Three months ago I decided to change my last name. I didn’t want a surname that had been passed down from man to man–I wanted one that gave full props to matriarchy. There aren’t enough things that do.
“Were you born here?” she snapped.
I leaned into the periphery of her vision. “Excuse me,” I said. “How do I go about ‘calling Indiana’?” I could see that I was interrupting important official business: her screen was open to Hotmail.
At the front desk there were no fewer than four signs announcing a rise in the price of death certificates: $6 as of March 1. Look after your loved ones, because the cost of dying is going up.
“Thank you! Thank you!” I said. She laughed and wished me luck.
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“Thank you for calling the Indiana State Department of Health Vital Records Office. If you are not calling from a touch-tone phone and cannot call back using a touch-tone phone, please remain on the line. You may press the number for the option you want at any time during this message without hearing the entire message. If at any time during this message you need to hear it again, please press six.”
“Hi. I was just transferred to you from…somewhere, and I’m seeking information about changing my last name.”
