Et al. and Others

Limited characters on a computerized form combined with a lapse in our education system united to create a perfect storm.

The only way to calm this storm was to walk a tightrope between calling a stranger a complete idiot and lovingly filling his educational cavity.

The ranch is comprised of many tracts of land. When my husband, Steve, and I bought the ranch, sometimes his name was listed first on a tract and sometimes my name was listed first.

I have no idea why.

Several years ago, when an oil exploration company arrived to inform me that they would drive multiple 30,000-pound thumper trucks all over the ranch, the oil man held two thick contracts in his hand. He expected me to sign one contract while Steve was supposed to sign the other contract.

The oil man – an unemployed architect from Pocatello – had gone to the courthouse to identify property ownership. The limited computer program space listed the owners of some of the tracts as Steve Hutton et al. while others listed Lisa Schmidt et al.

The oil man didn’t understand why I owned some random portions while Steve owned other random portions, but he prided himself on being well-educated so he let that detail slide.

He had not learned enough Latin to know that et al. means “and others.” That oversight was understandable. That he did not delve deeper to learn how to do his job was not.

During my conversation with him, I might have mentioned that he was an imbecile.

Eventually, he came back with a single contract. Neither of us signed it.

Fast forward a dozen years.

Montana’s legislature passed a property tax relief bill. Homeowners who apply to the Department of Revenue will receive $675. The one-page application is simple.

As I filled out the form, I knew this process would not be one page or simple.

When Steve died, his half of the ranch went into a trust while I maintained my undivided half of ownership.

The space on the computer property tax listing was still limited. The trust et al. happened to be listed as owners of the tract of land where my house sits.

I held a dim hope that people in the Revenue Department, those who deal in property tax records every day, might have learned a tad bit of Latin.

That dim hope died the day my rejection letter arrived.

The letter said humans qualify to receive the rebate, but trusts don’t.

I qualify as a human, but apparently et al. does not.

The rebate check was not big enough to make a huge difference in the ranch budget, but if I found $675 laying on the ground, I would pick it up.

It’s not a crime to have limited a vocabulary -- I’m not familiar with many Latin terms pertaining to law, but I’m not a lawyer.

But people who have a job that uses Latin should understand the terms well enough to work competently at their jobs.

In my appeal, I included a copy of the property deed as proof of my ownership. After all, a written deed has enough space to list all of the owners so my name and the trust were listed. Et al. was not.

I received another rejection via email.

The second draft of my response deleted references to fundamental knowledge, idiots and the importance of being proficient at one’s job.

A day later, the Revenue Department curtly confirmed that my rebate check is in the mail.

If only the postal service doesn’t shut down, I should receive my tax rebate this week.

Meanwhile, I’ll complain about this first world problem, etc., to my brother, et al.