On Friday I worked the other county and I was not happy about it.
The place is tainted because of one title searcher who is a rabid Jack Russell terrier with a chip on her shoulder about everyone and everything. Fortunately since I don't have to interact with her often, I didn't get much of that glaring and anger vibe as usual. Still avoided her as usual.
Several of the title searchers are outspoken supporters of the previous regime and I avoid any interaction with them, but I was forced to today. This one searcher left her desk and her phone while doing stuff elsewhere in the building. Her phone rang five times in a row and I found her and said, "Your phone's been ringing about five times in a row." Jesus fuck, bitch. Don't you know smartphones are portable and you can carry them with you? Hell they have a silent mode so your notifications aren't disrupting other people. You dipshit fuckstain MAGA cunt. Oh and she dragged along some five or six year old kid who was wandering around literally everywhere and being an obstacle until the brat was placated with a bag of McDonald's.
The "keeper of records", give me a fucking break being pretentious about the county clerk, is tainted because of many current and prior employees at the county.
One was this skinny old woman who looked like a chimpanzee who was forced to resign a year before retirement because she fucked around and found out. For months she would loudly complain about the injustice, go into detail about the situation despite the fact she was doing something funny to embezzle money, and I just didn't want to hear it anymore.
Another was her cohort who was less dramatic about the procedure getting her fired as well. Cohort was forced to resign because she pretended like she was going to run someone over and that someone complained.
The deputy county clerk, who probably wouldn't still be employed in the private sector thanks to her age, had these convenient picnic tables across from the building removed because she felt they drew 'undesirables' and confided that in me the time she saw a young woman twerking on them. Oh my! She was probably brown and showing her covered buttocks. I'd clutch my pearls too, granny. Also if I go into Monmouth, there's no place to eat lunch away from the other title searchers unless I want to go to Sweet Lew's.

I'm also superstitious about being there since most times I've been sent in, I've developed some pain or injury. When I returned home I futzed around online, considered going to Johnny Mac's to have a change of scenery, but wound up going to bed and slept until nearly 11 p.m. when my bladder woke me. My left foot was barking, not as bad as the right foot in the past, and I thought to myself "Fucking Monmouth".

Compounding the irritation of working there, Freehold is bringing parking meters to Monmouth after decades without them. This is annoying because earlier this year the police started to crack down on people parking in the municipal lot, even the title searchers, which forced many to juggle their vehicles every three hours. Eventually the Freehold Police or the mayor's office relented and said the first two rows at the county would remain free necessitating me to arrive extra early in-county so I can park without fear of being hassled by the police nickel and diming me because Freehold can't get its shit together in a recession economy nor has it adapted to people buying more online than going downtown to buy essential crap.

On top of that the guy who runs the show in a practical sense at my employer emails me, "Tell me about the Belmar job and if he's in."
I have no fucking context on this, call my direct report and explain I have no idea what's being addressed and he says he'll handle it since I'm almost never in the county anymore and the person I'm covering would know more than I know. Jesus Christ, how fucking stressful on top of a stressful situation.
Later he sends me an unofficial note requesting that I print out the surrogate documents for somebody, fortunately provides the docket number, and I email them back tout de suite.

Worst bit? My colleague left behind a series of four searches in the same block with neighboring lots. The first two were annoying but not above and beyond for such a search. The last two were onerous cusses because there were two final judgements in a weird place requiring me to 'go back' so the title examiner can determine the parcels are free of encumberances. The original family, the Lippincotts, went back to 1946 but could've gone further back if that 1946 wasn't for a consideration (price) greater than $1.00.
Fuck the Lippincotts and the Gallaghers of Howell, New Jersey for being fuck-ups who couldn't engage in the upkeep of a large parcel of land before the turn of the millennium.
Fuck them hard.
The final two full searches were 200+ pages of printouts.

The cherry on top of working in Monmouth? The 'jetpack', a gadget providing wifi for our company and no one else, died so I wasn't able to upload a simple full search on a condominium. I left a note for my colleague, told my direct report over the phone, and went home since it was a quarter to four anyway.

The less time I spend there means an increased quality of life.

mismanagement of money at the other county

Forgot to mention that the current capo dei capi spent money renovating the inside of the county clerk's office getting fancy new lights, a new paintjob, and wood paneling (or whatever it is called) installed. Nothing practical like updating the dying photocopy machines nor adding more title searcher terminals.

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