just call me the comish

This morning on the way to work I stopped off at San Francisco City Hall, filled a parking meter with a huge handful of spare change—for a grand total of only 29 minutes—and went to the Office of the County Clerk, where 19 minutes and a check for $112 later, I was sworn in as a deputy marriage commissioner (albeit valid only for the solemnization of one specific marriage on the date of October 20).

Part of the process was kind of amusing; I was given a photocopy of my friends’ marriage license, and was asked to sign and print my name and print my mailing address. The documentation provided makes it VERY CLEAR that I have to stay within the boxes and may not cross-out, white-out or write-over any information, so this was my test run to prove that I could stay within the lines. This is serious, for as the County web site points out, “The office of the County Clerk has a right to refuse deputization of a person, should the office feel that the person is unable to complete the paperwork correctly.”

I then had to swear or affirm (my choice)—right hand raised and all—that I would uphold the Constitution of the United States. Figuring that the current president and congress have set a pretty low bar for that task, I readily affirmed.