Car Insurance - Turning Tuscan: A Step-by-Step Guide to Going Native - page 139

thelegal proofthat Iowntitle tothecar.Apparently thisiswhatwewouldcall a“pinkslip”
back in the States. And here I was all this time thinking that the libretto (which has every
intimate detail about my car from its weight to the length of its axles) was my “pink slip”.
But, no, in addition to insurance, registration and libretto , there's something else. (There's
always something else.) Now I understand the concept, but, unfortunately, if I ever had a
CDP, it was put in a drawer somewhere whose location is now known only to God.
We'll, we're stuck. Without the CDP the ACI will not issue the document that certifies that
I have sold my car to the auto dealership. The salesman asks me to excuse them for a mo-
ment, and the three employees go into a huddle in one of the offices. They make a phone
call and I watch the gestures and see the expressions through the plate glass windows; it
doesn't look good. But, then I look and see that there are nods of agreement. The jury re-
enters the lobby and my salesman says: “You'll need to go to the carabinieri and make a
declaration of loss, a denuncia . With the document that they'll give you, you go to ACI and
ask them to make you a new CDP. Hopefully, they will accept that, and they will then give
you the document that says you have transferred ownership of the car to us. Marco will go
with you to help make everything okay.”
Back up the mountain to the local police station. Marco tells me “turn left” and “turn right”
until we reach the police station. We buzz and the heavy metal gate releases. We cross
the courtyard and in the doorway there stands a bear of a man who is about 6'4” and 250
pounds. He speaks in a low, gruff voice and doesn't smile. He reminds me a bit of Steve
Schirripa, the actor from the Sopranos who takes care of Tony's uncle, but much more in-
timidating. My comrade explains why we're here. The giant tells me he speaks only “a
leetle English” and then, continuing in Italian, he says, “The policeman is very busy. Wait
here and he'll be with you when he can.” We sit down on the couch in the lobby to wait.
After just a few moments, he comes back and says in a deep growl, “The policeman can
see you now. Follow me.” We follow him into an office where he closes the door behind us
and proceeds to sit down behind the desk. I suddenly realize that he IS the policeman. I'm
trying to assess quickly whether he has a good sense of humor or is completely crazy. He
motions to us to sit opposite him, and he says to me: “Stend up”. He sees my confusion, so
he tries again. “Seet down”. I decide to help him with the lesson. I sit down and say “Sit
down!” I stand up and say “Stand up!” He cracks a smile. I repeat the lesson and he grins.
I realize that everything is going to be okay.
The officer has had the same typing instructor that trained the rest of the force in a special,
two-finger technique that favors accuracy over speed. As he fills out the form online,
whenever he comes to a question that has no applicable answer but requires a response to