I had occasion to remove my ex from the deed to my condo. Of course, this meant I had to deal with the (local) government. Armed with nothing more than a quit claim deed, my driver’s license, and steely resolve, I marched into the downtown Hamilton County administrative building to accomplish this task. I knew the process would be arduous, as nearly all contact with entrenched bureaucracy is but, even so, I underestimated the number of steps (figurative and literal) it would take to remove a name from a deed.

Room 205 – Deed Copies.

It was probably wishful thinking to believe my deed journey would start in the office that had the word “Deed” in its title. Alas, this was not meant to be. It turns out that the office of Deed Copies was the last place to which I would end up going—I just didn’t know it yet. Chock full of ignorance, I sauntered to the help window, file folder in hand.

“Can I help you.” The lady on the other side of the window seemed nice enough. Disarmingly so. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Yes, please. I need to remove a name from my condo deed.” I opened the folder to display the notarized signature of my ex-girlfriend, the signature giving me permission to do what I was doing.

“Oh, well…okay. You need to start by getting this stamped by County Engineering.” She smiled at me from across the small slab of marble countertop. “They have to stamp it to verify the address.”

“And, where can I find them?”

“They’re in room 705.”

I thanked her for her guidance and, skipping the elevator, trudged up the five flights.

Room 705 – Engineering

Climb complete, I approached the lady sitting at the desk behind another counter.

“Hi. The lady in Deed Copies told me I needed to get this stamped by you guys.” I again displayed the signed and notarized copy of the deed release, which the new lady examined.

“Oh, okay. Well, you do need our stamp, but you need to verify the address from the auditor before we can stamp it.”

Sense of purpose flagging, I attempted to hide a sarcastic sigh before asking the obvious.

“And on what floor might I find the auditor?”

“They’re down in 304.”

I gave her my thanks, vowing to return once I’d successfully navigated my way to the auditor’s office and accomplished whatever was required by said auditor.

Room 304 – Auditor

There was no line when I arrived at Room 304. In fact, none of the offices to which I’d journeyed seemed burdened with an overabundance of petitioners. As I cooled my heels by a sign instructing me to “Wait Here,” I wondered why this was the case, but there was little time to ponder the absence of humanity, as I was waived to the counter almost immediately.

“Hi. I was told by the engineer’s office that you guys had to verify the address on this quit claim deed before they can stamp it.” I had resorted to waiving the file folder around instead of taking the time to open it and produce the document itself. The auditor lady smiled.

“Sure. May I see the deed?”

I handed over the file folder. “Here you go.”

The lady graciously accepted the folder and glanced inside. “Give me just a minute, please.”

I waited. But not for long.

The auditor lady disappeared and rematerialized less than a minute later, her face animated with an expression of concern. A shiver worked its way up my spine.

“Is there a problem?” My voice was shaky, but I maintained control. How many floors would I have to climb?

“Yes. The legal description on the quit claim deed is incorrect.”

Myriad scenarios slid through my imagination. Would I have to get my ex to re-sign the document? Would they have me arrested for making a fraudulent claim? I wasn’t sure, but if given a choice, the latter seemed preferable to the former. Luckily, the auditor lady came to my rescue.

As I envisioned potential outcomes (all bad,) a ray of light shone upon me.

“You know, I think I can fix this for you. Just tell the engineer what we did.”

My joy was indescribable. I would happily climb the four flights back to the engineer’s office if I could get this taken care of today. When the auditor lady returned the corrected document, I almost hugged. I stopped short, however, worried an unrequested hug could be viewed as a felony, or at least a class one misdemeanor. I settled for a heartfelt thank you.

Climb climb climb.

Room 705 – Engineering

The same lady who helped me before (An hour? A day? A year?) helped me again, and I didn’t even need to explain the correction made by the auditor lady. Engineer lady clearly understood what happened. Things went smoothly, and before long the document was stamped. I was, however, still hazy on final steps.

I peered across the desk at the Engineer lady. “So, not to sound dumb, but can you tell me where to go from here.”

She smiled a weary smile, a smile that indicated she’d answered that same question at least twenty times a day for the last ten years. “Of course. Now you go to Room 205 to pay for everything you’ve done today, and that should be it.”

Though somewhat bothered by her insertion of the word “should,” I was delighted to be headed downstairs. The Engineer, as far as I could tell, was on the top floor of the building—the pinnacle, if you will. Everything from here on would be downward and, soon thereafter, outward.

Room 205 – Deed Copies

The Deed lady smiled in recognition, likely happy I would soon be out of her hair. That is, as long as I’d successfully completed all the required steps. No guarantee there. Given the rote nature of the process, I believed it to be more than possible, probable, even, that I’d missed a step or two. But I would know soon enough. The Deed lady waived me over, hopefully for the last time.

I handed her the papers, now covered in red ink and the engineer’s stamp of approval.

“This looks good. Nice job.” She looked up at me. “That’ll be $71.”

For my freedom, I would have gladly paid twice that amount.