In the Commonwealth of Virginia we have a car tax. This is officially known as the personal property tax, but for individuals the only personal property upon which we have to pay tax is our automobiles.

Governor Jim Gilmore ran, and was elected, on a single issue: Get rid of the car tax. He hasn't done that, but he's made great strides. According to my bill, the tax on the Mullmobile was $1,265.88. But! There was "Car Tax Relief" of $655.00 leaving a tax of only $600.88.

Like with all the other taxes we are socked with, we can whine and moan but they have to be paid. The way they getch-ya in Virginia is this: Every county collects this tax and they give you a sticker to put in your windshield to prove you are a tax-payer in good standing. Or good driving.

If you have Virginia plates and no county sticker you will be pulled over and asked to explain yourself.

I went to Alexandria City hall and paid the taxes on the Mullmobile and the auto of the Mullings Director of Standards & Practices. In return they gave me two county stickers - green this year which matches the exterior of the Mullmobile as opposed to the red of last year's sticker which made the Mullmobile look like a giant mistletoe on wheels.

In order to get last year's sticker off your windshield you can either scrape it off with a single-edged razor blade or remove it with a World War II -era flame thrower. I, after careful consideration, opted for the former method.

Right across King Street which is the main drag through Old Town Alexandria, is a chain drug store. I strolled across the street and asked a clerk for single-edged razor blades. She sent me to the shaving section where, lo and behold, there was one package hanging on a hook.

Delighted, I took it and went to the check out line in which six people were standing, only one of the two registers being in operation. One guy, third from the front, was juggling about a dozen rolls of toilet paper and a bunch of other stuff which he put on the counter in front of the closed register. He went off, one assumed, to get even more things and I wondered whether or not he was going to try to reclaim his place.

Should I let him in, in the name of national unity? Would I, in this era of do unto others, permit him to get the one thing his wife probably sent him for before he noticed the really good deals on toilet paper? Might I, in this time of reduced road rage and treating each other with kindness, motion him back in with a nod and a smile?

Nah.

As it happened he didn't get back before I got to the register so I was spared the moral choice.

The clerk scanned the single edged blades and said, "$3.99."

No problemo. I will have the tools necessary to do the job properly. For the purposes of removing the old county sticker, I have a full tool shop. I am just like Norm Abrams.

The clerk reached under the counter and pulled out a plastic bag.

"I don't need a bag," I said like, by declining one small plastic bag I was personally saving all the whales. I looked behind me to accept the grinning acclaim of the - still - six people in line behind me.

I was just going to put them into the bag I carry. It is not a European Carry-All. It looks more like a camera bag designed by Eddie Bauer which, as it happens, is where I bought it.

I keep in it, my cell phone, my Palm Pilot, my Walkman, and my various and sundry ear things with wires and plugs for going on TV and using my cell phone in hands free mode all of which have gone through airport security without a second glance - even after.

The single edged blades are packaged in a small hard plastic box which is, in turn, mounted on a piece of cardboard about five inches square and enclosed in a clear plastic bubble. I would not fit into my non-European-Carry-All-but-still-very-very-manly shoulder bag.

"As a matter of fact," I said, "I don't even need the packaging. Would you mind taking the razor blades out of the plastic?"

The clerk's hands froze in place. The line behind me went absolutely silent.

I was, mutely, being accused of being a single-edged razor blade terrorist.

I turned around, feeling for all the world like George Castanza, and said, "They're to scrape the old county sticker off!"

It was like a Seinfeld episode. Everyone in line relaxed and said "Oh!" and "Of course!" and "Ok, then."

I walked home, and prepared to comply with the law.

Last year, when I did this, I borrowed a scraper from the Exxon station. The blade slipped and I, literally, sliced off the top of the ring finger of my left hand.

I should have sued for 87 Billion and settled for free gas for a year, but I didn't. What I DID do was type for the next month with a bandage on my finger which was like writing with a pogo stick on one hand.

But this year, I was prepared. I was ready. I had my own single-edged razor blades. I was going to perform the operation in the privacy of my own garage. I think the accident last year was due, at least in part, to the performance anxiety of doing The Big Scrape in the inspection lane of the Exxon.

After some fumbling and perhaps, perhaps, the verbalization of a bad word, I figured out how to get one blade out of the holder. I leaned in through the passenger side door of the Mullmobile and scrape, scrape, scrape I got the old, used, ugly red, expires October 5, 2001 Alexandria County sticker off my windshield.

I even got a paper towel and wiped the remaining glue off so the new, pristine, beautiful green, expires October 5, 2002 Alexandria County sticker would look great on my windshield.

I read the instructions:

1. Remove paper backing by first bending decal along core line. Remove ½ of backing paper.

2. Place in position and rub ½ of decal firmly to windshield.

3. Remove other half of backing paper and rub firmly to windshield.

But I didn't need no stinking backing paper. I removed ALL the backing paper, lined the decal up and a small corner caught in the wrong place.

No problem. I simply pulled on the decal to start again. Except these decals don't pull. They rip.

The decal ripped in half about a third of the way up the windshield of the Mullmobile. I pulled some more. It ripped some more. Then I tried to piece it back together and it crinkled. And the rest of it stuck to the windshield.

My new, pristine, blah, blah, blah sticker looked like it was stolen from a '62 Dodge Dart.

Ok. Ok. Deep breaths. Go to my happy place. Figure this out. What to do.

I decided to do nothing. I had to teach a class and I hadn't though very much about the lecture so I decided to do that and leave the sticker wicket for later.

On Tuesday morning I made my way back to City Hall and explained to the woman at the information desk what the problem was. She indicated this was not the first time in the history of the automobile that someone had done this; to bring back at least a piece of the old decal and they would replace it for a dollar.

I had thought it was going to cost $25, so already I was ahead of the game.

I walked back home, tried to remember how to get a single-edged blade out of the holder, trembled with the exertion of it, remembered it slipped out the side, did it and once again prepared to do battle with the decal.

I scrapped off the whole thing and stuck the individual pieces to a number 10 envelope as evidence.

I walked back to City Hall and was greeted by a man in a knit shirt emblazoned with the Alexandria City logo and the legend: Treasury.

As this is the last week to pay your personal property taxes the line had gotten significantly longer from 24 hours earlier, and would be longer still the next day. I explained to the man what the problem was, and showed him the remains of the decal.

He started to laugh out loud, but I might have shot him a look which helped him remember that he was there to be of assistance, not to do his Don Rickles act.

I was sent to a different line than I had been the day before. I made my way to the front. Showed the shards to the woman behind the glass. She did laugh.

"Do you have a wall for the people who destroy these the worst?"

She said they didn't but maybe they should start one.

She typed a lot of things into her computer, printed out a number of forms, and sent me to the regular line to get a new decal.

Ok. This was my fault, and the people were being helpful so I listened to Tony Kornheiser's radio program while I waited.

I happened to glance down at the form and read the following:

"Non-resident military personnel, non-taxable diplomats, and members of Congress should return this bill by October 5, 2001 to receive their vehicle decals by mail."

The implication is that Member of Congress don't have to pay Alexandria City property taxes because they live in Oklahoma, or Kentucky and they pay their taxes there.

Hmm. Hmm. Hmm. I wonder.

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the U.S. Capitol switchboard.

"Capitol."

"Congressman Jim Moran's office, please."

I wondered whether the Congressman FROM Alexandria availed himself of this tax dodge.

A young man answered and I posed the question: "Does the Congressman pay the Alexandria car tax?"

"Um. Er. I don't think we can give out that information."

"Sure you can. I'm not asking how much he pays. I'm only asking IF he pays. If I asked you whether the Congressman paid his U.S. Income tax you would give out that information, wouldn't you?

"I guess so."

"Ok. Find out."

"I'll have to take your name and number and call you back."

"No. You won't do it. Give me the press secretary."

"He's on another call."

"I'll hold."

I held for 20 minutes.

The kid came back on:

"The car is a leased car and the Congressman pays his taxes in Alexandria."

This, actually, was a pretty crafty answer.

First, if I didn't know better, I might think that the leasing company handles payment of the car tax. However I have had a leased car in Virginia and I know better.

Second, the construction of the second clause, "the Congressman pays his taxes in Alexandria" could be misinterpreted by someone such as me as "the Congressman pays all the taxes that any other Alexandria citizen pays." Or, it COULD mean, "those taxes which the Congressman deigns to pay, he pays in Alexandria."

I said, "Good answer. But not to my question. My specific question is this: 'Does Congressman Moran pay the car tax that all other citizens of Alexandria pay?'"

"I'll have to have the press secretary call you back."

I gave him my name and number and reminded him that I was not just a columnist, I outranked a columnist … I was a constituent.

About three in the afternoon, I called again. The press secretary is, it turns out, also the Chief of Staff. His name is Paul Reagan. He was either still on the phone, or on another call. He was unavailable to answer my question.

Any bets on what the answer is? I think the Congressman from Alexandria, Virginia saves himself about six hundred bucks a year by claiming the Congressional exemption, even though it was clearly not designed for that purpose.

Satisfied that I had struck a blow for truth, justice and the America way, I prepared to tackle the final piece of business for the day: Putting on the NEW new sticker.

Instead of leaning in the passenger side door which I realized was my fundamental strategic error the day before. I actually sat in the passenger seat.

I peeled off one half of the paper backing, as instructed. I carefully lined it up with the inspection sticker (which someone else, thank God, replaces every year) and showing no sign of fear, stuck it to the windshield. I peeled off the other half, carefully so as not to have any unsightly air bubbles and no creases, stuck the other half to the windshield.

Michealangelo never took more care in touching paint brush to plaster in the Sistine Chapel. No engineer designing the lunar lander ever was more precise in his measurements. The builders of the Pyramids were never more exacting in their designs.

It was perfect. It was symmetrical. It was almost spiritual.

It was upside down.