The invitation came during the last week in December. All sealed up in an attractive envelope, the invitation was friendly and that's what this 'cuff is all about. I knew it was an invitation. The same friendly words arrive every year about this time and I enjoy the pleasure when I respond to such a courteous remembrance.
So the 'cuff took over this year or, rather, it was still in last year when the envelope arrived and since I knew it would give me several days to respond, I laid the unopened envelope aside. It was then the gray matter began twirling and the decision was made to respond pretty quickly.
And so here goes: I decided to get on the stick real quick ... so on Tuesday morning, the fourth of January, I opened the envelope. And, sure enough, that same courteous invitation was the main topic. So I headed to town, parked the car and walked toward the door where that invitation friend would be waiting for me. I glanced through the glass and, aha, I had timed it perfectly. Only a few people, who I'm sure had received a special envelope and invitation, were sitting comfortably on folding chairs.
I didn't waste any time getting in out of the chilly southern breeze; the jacket and short sleeve shirt just didn't have it. What's that, you ask? "Why didn't you at least change to a long sleeve shirt after Christmas?" There was no answer I could think of. Those warmish late November and pre-Christmas spring-like days were nice, weren't they? ... So I opened the door, went in and found one of quite a few empty chairs. Where are all the invitees? I wondered. There wasn't much talking and everybody seemed hunkered over in their chairs; most seemed to have an envelope in their hands. An invitation, no doubt. I didn't recognize any of the group but my memory ain't what it used to be ... if ever.
I just sat there, sort of grinning, and watched the hostess for the event finish talking to a young feller and, as he left, she said something that sounded like a number and motioned for a couple to visit with her. They began talking and shuffled papers. I looked at my watch and it breathed nine-forty-five to me. Not bad, I thought, everyone involved usually talks a lot, enjoys accepting the invitation and quietly leaves ... and the project goes on. Something must have happened because I took another look at the watch. Just fifteen minutes and ... . ah well, the couple moved toward the door.
The process continued, with number, get up, go, talk, shuffle papers, talk some more and then leave. The clock hand moved as usual but it was the next number and the fellow who went up to pleasantly talk and listen sort of growled -- no, that's not right -- he just kept moving his lips with his upper lip sort of ... He didn't quietly shut the door, but it wasn't a slam. I wonder if he had picked up the wrong envelope. Tick, tock, tick, tock ... then it was another couple who casually moved forward. Everything seemed alright, there were chuckles or nice sounds as time progressed. And then one drifted to another place in the room, sat in a chair and, from where I sat, I'd bet a quarter a camera clicked. Ditto, for the man took his turn in the chair and, after that, both went to visit with the hostess.
This procedure didn't surprise me. It has always been this way when those who bring their invitations take their turns and life goes on as tick, tock, tick, tock ... It really was a great morning because then when the hostess said something and motioned to me, it was getting close to lunch time. So the usual procedure went on, the invitation was checked and I did what? That's right, I wrote a check.
I know you figured out what was going on a lot of sentences ago and I left out the part about when I came I had to visit the assessor lady at a county window and then get those papers that had to be secured before you would enjoy that annual party or invitation. And it went well on the fourth of January because it's always near the last day of the month that the old gray stuff finally wakes me up so I can go and stand and wait and shuffle and wait and wonder and wait, holding that precious little number that I pulled which is called when the business can be completed. How often has the wait been ignored as time passed and I (you?) left carrying that little envelope which has a Little Rock return address on it. And then it's back earlier the next day and, finally, one time three days later, the task is finished.
I must add that during the many times this procedure has been done in Gravette, every lady who has operated the window has been pleasant and patient to those who are very important. I could mail or phone to conduct the process but it is important that they are open locally, which requires personal attention to complete the procedure. Sometimes, there are hitches but the courtesy of helping explain the invitation allows the process to be completed.
One thing is very certain. The process ain't what it used to be. It was in the late '50s I bought my very first car tag. It took a trip to Bentonville to visit at least three offices before I could leave with that license in my hands. So often in following years, I would somehow forget one piece of paper, such as assessment and/or payment of last year's tax, that had to be secured or a person's place in line was lost forever until those papers could be handed to the license lady. Now a trip, or sometimes two, across town sure beats a couple of trips to Bentonville or to several different offices in that town. That part of the "good old days" wasn't so good. I'd bet a quarter every 'cuffer would agree with that. So, 'till next time, when who-knows-what will pop up.
Oh yes, one other tidbit. I remember when on the same trip to Bentonville I bought my first poll tax so I could legally vote. Fortunately "them days are gone forever" too. Now paying invitations can be done in several Benton County towns. Ain't that nice?
Dodie Evans is the former owner and long-time editor of The Gravette News Herald. Opinions expressed are those of the author.