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mallorys_cameraHere’s the deal with a resale license:
You cannot get a resale license without providing a list of vendors whom you’re buying from. But… you cannot buy from vendors without a resale license.
I think Joseph Heller wrote a book about this once.
Anyway, I was ten minutes into my standoff with the California State Board of Equalization clerk. “See, they won’t let me order from them without a license and a number.”
The local branch of the State Equalization Board is a windowless bunker in an office park way the hell out in North Salinas. North Salinas may have the highest ratio of dentists to residents of any place in the world. The dentists all maintain office suites in seedy-looking strip malls. They service the local itinerant farm worker community for whom dental hygiene is not a high priority. Just one more way that They are different from Us.
The clerk was an iron-faced battle-ax whom were I not deeply and irremediably submerged into my trans-gender James Dean persona, I would have to acknowledge was about my age. She had lacquered hair and a mouth like a prune, wrinkled and wise to intestinal stoppage. Her tiny gray cubicle behind its three inches of bulletproof glass was decorated entirely with American flags. American flag stickers, an American flag yo-yo, a patchwork eagle grinning down from the wall. I could understand the need for the bulletproof glass – if I’d happened to have an AK47 and its instruction manual handy, I would have shot her myself.
“I need a list of your suppliers or I can’t complete the form,” she said again.
Clearly a change in strategy was called for.
I took a deep breath. “Thank you for your patience. You know, I left my cell phone in the car. Let me just go and call my husband. He’s been doing the inventory stuff. He’ll give me the names.”
Outside the trees were dying in the landscaped parking lot. It wasn’t unbearably hot today but there was a brown miasma in the air, the residue of many tons of pesticides mixed with dust and car exhaust and traces of rocket fuel.
I snagged my copy of Jarhead off the front seat of my car and called Ben.
“Listen, you’ve got to get me the names and addresses of some hot sauce suppliers –“
“I don’t know the names and addresses of any hot sauce suppliers –“
“Well, make them up! Or look on the Internet. Or go into the kitchen and look on the bottles.”
“I talked to three point of sales guys today –“
“That’s great. Let’s talk about point of sales later. Right now it’s all about hot sauce.”
In a binder next to my accordion file of receipts – the truly great thing about starting a business is that just about everything you can possibly imagine is a tax deduction – was my list of potential vendors. Of course, I hadn’t ordered from any of them yet. But that would come.
Thus armed with names and addresses, I trot back into the bunker and sit down on my side of the bulletproof glass. I put Jarhead on top of my files, upside down so she can read the cover. The clerk narrows her eyes at me suspiciously.
“You’re being so patient with me,” I say. “It must be hard all day dealing with people who don’t understand the rules. Thanks for helping me.”
Her eyes fall on the book. "Jarhead?” she asks.
“It’s a great book,” I say. “All about the marines in the first Gulf War. Damn, they were gallant.”
Suddenly the clerk is my new best friend. She makes magic happen. She even waives the usual deposit on first quarter sales tax collections. In between furious bouts of typing and squinting at the too-small font size on various screens of computerized government records, we chat.
“Cannery Row, huh?” she asks. “Gee, I haven’t gotten out to the Bay Area in a really long time.”
For a moment I think she’s talking about San Francisco.
“Monterey is nice,” I say.
“Very pretty –“
“Very pretty. But y’know, Salinas is nice too.”
“Salinas?” For a moment the clerk stops typing and stares at me. Uh-oh – have I gone too far? “Oh, you mean like Steinbeck Country and stuff? It’s okay. It’s somewhere to stay till the undertaker comes for you.”
I laugh then as though this is the funniest joke I’ve ever heard. Which in a way, of course, it is.
And leave two minutes later with my resale license.
You cannot get a resale license without providing a list of vendors whom you’re buying from. But… you cannot buy from vendors without a resale license.
I think Joseph Heller wrote a book about this once.
Anyway, I was ten minutes into my standoff with the California State Board of Equalization clerk. “See, they won’t let me order from them without a license and a number.”
The local branch of the State Equalization Board is a windowless bunker in an office park way the hell out in North Salinas. North Salinas may have the highest ratio of dentists to residents of any place in the world. The dentists all maintain office suites in seedy-looking strip malls. They service the local itinerant farm worker community for whom dental hygiene is not a high priority. Just one more way that They are different from Us.
The clerk was an iron-faced battle-ax whom were I not deeply and irremediably submerged into my trans-gender James Dean persona, I would have to acknowledge was about my age. She had lacquered hair and a mouth like a prune, wrinkled and wise to intestinal stoppage. Her tiny gray cubicle behind its three inches of bulletproof glass was decorated entirely with American flags. American flag stickers, an American flag yo-yo, a patchwork eagle grinning down from the wall. I could understand the need for the bulletproof glass – if I’d happened to have an AK47 and its instruction manual handy, I would have shot her myself.
“I need a list of your suppliers or I can’t complete the form,” she said again.
Clearly a change in strategy was called for.
I took a deep breath. “Thank you for your patience. You know, I left my cell phone in the car. Let me just go and call my husband. He’s been doing the inventory stuff. He’ll give me the names.”
Outside the trees were dying in the landscaped parking lot. It wasn’t unbearably hot today but there was a brown miasma in the air, the residue of many tons of pesticides mixed with dust and car exhaust and traces of rocket fuel.
I snagged my copy of Jarhead off the front seat of my car and called Ben.
“Listen, you’ve got to get me the names and addresses of some hot sauce suppliers –“
“I don’t know the names and addresses of any hot sauce suppliers –“
“Well, make them up! Or look on the Internet. Or go into the kitchen and look on the bottles.”
“I talked to three point of sales guys today –“
“That’s great. Let’s talk about point of sales later. Right now it’s all about hot sauce.”
In a binder next to my accordion file of receipts – the truly great thing about starting a business is that just about everything you can possibly imagine is a tax deduction – was my list of potential vendors. Of course, I hadn’t ordered from any of them yet. But that would come.
Thus armed with names and addresses, I trot back into the bunker and sit down on my side of the bulletproof glass. I put Jarhead on top of my files, upside down so she can read the cover. The clerk narrows her eyes at me suspiciously.
“You’re being so patient with me,” I say. “It must be hard all day dealing with people who don’t understand the rules. Thanks for helping me.”
Her eyes fall on the book. "Jarhead?” she asks.
“It’s a great book,” I say. “All about the marines in the first Gulf War. Damn, they were gallant.”
Suddenly the clerk is my new best friend. She makes magic happen. She even waives the usual deposit on first quarter sales tax collections. In between furious bouts of typing and squinting at the too-small font size on various screens of computerized government records, we chat.
“Cannery Row, huh?” she asks. “Gee, I haven’t gotten out to the Bay Area in a really long time.”
For a moment I think she’s talking about San Francisco.
“Monterey is nice,” I say.
“Very pretty –“
“Very pretty. But y’know, Salinas is nice too.”
“Salinas?” For a moment the clerk stops typing and stares at me. Uh-oh – have I gone too far? “Oh, you mean like Steinbeck Country and stuff? It’s okay. It’s somewhere to stay till the undertaker comes for you.”
I laugh then as though this is the funniest joke I’ve ever heard. Which in a way, of course, it is.
And leave two minutes later with my resale license.
