Notary Public

Paul thought this was the best day of his life. He received an online certification authorizing him as an official notary public. He had always wanted to stamp things with authority and finality. He put a big sign in front of his house and before long clients began streaming in. In this society everyone needs proof of something, unimpeachable credentials and Paul was there to provide them. Within a week he had stamped paperwork for a potato farmer, a short order cook, a bassoonist, a quick change artist, a flap jack flipper, a cake icing creator, a hop scotch extremist, a fine tuner, a mixed media curator, a rhyming coordinator, a barbecue critic, on and on. So much to stamp, so little time.
Paul's reputation grew. He was quick and accurate and soon other notary public types visited from all over, spending hours comparing techniques, new approaches, all the fine points of this invaluable service.One night, after a few glasses of wine, they began stamping each other, rolling around the floor in hysterics. Neighbors called police. Warnings were issued. Somehow, in all the craziness, Paul's stamping arm was dislocated. It took months of rehab, but he was never the same. His stamping now lacked authority. He brooded openly. Mumbled profanities. Reeked of liniment. Soon, his business fell off to nothing. He couldn't sleep. A decision had to be made. Paul drew up his own paperwork and stamped it himself. De certification. He was no longer a notary public. Eventually got a degree in child psychology. Sometimes frightened the children in one on one sessions by suddenly making a fist and bringing it down hard on the table in a stamping motion. Dreams die hard.