A few weeks ago I wrote an entire column about the inefficiency of changing an address with the Secretary of State, including the mail intentionally sent to the old house (in case we still lived there).

At the end, I wrote “here’s betting my little story is nothing compared to readers’ experiences,” a wager won by a woman who got a legendary runaround in pursuit of a Real ID, including multiple government offices demanding her late husband sign a marriage license from before the Bears won the Super Bowl.

In the interest of fairness, it’s worth noting I experienced a similar circumstance when changing addresses with our hometown bank. After visiting a teller in person and signing off on several forms, we got seven letters confirming the change – one for each checking and savings account a

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