I received an unusual notice not long ago from the Massachusetts Registry of Motor Vehicles. The chancellery of our chariots informed me that the car registration renewal I’d requested would be delayed because of a “supply chain issue.”
Nearly everybody nowadays knows what “supply chain” means. It’s the complex web of suppliers and transport links that keep goods flowing into shops, homes and businesses. One small glitch, like a power outage or a pandemic, can set off delays and shortages.
Since COVID became a big deal two years ago — and we sat home ordering goods instead of services — countless commodities have had their chains yanked. First came the great toilet paper shortage, then the baby formula crisis and, through it all, a dearth of semi-conductors that has made everything from TV sets to new cars scarcer and pricier.
What I didn’t expect was that car registrations could also be disrupted. Must be a shortage of paper, or maybe ink. The registry didn’t say, though a subsequent notice mentioned a problem involving those little license plate stickers — a problem that has also befallen the New York Department of Motor Vehicles.
With my usual obsessive-compulsive foresight, I’d sent in the renewal application two months ago. By now, however, my existing registration has expired. I can’t use the car legally.
Which has given me lots of time to reflect on the global supply chain problem. In addition to causing vast frustration, it has been a factor — the biggest, some economists say — in stoking inflation. Supply problems have also stunted employment, worker productivity, retail sales and overall economic growth.
In a normal world, the crisis would be easing by now. COVID cases have declined from their peak, and the new BA.5 mutant is not as lethal as earlier versions. Stores, restaurants and factories are, for the most part, humming at pre-pandemic levels. Baby formula is back on the shelves.
Major chains like Target and Walmart are now awash with merchandise. Some retailers are slashing prices, and a few are even giving refunds to mail-order customers seeking to return an item — and telling them to keep it.
And yet. I got a message the other day from the National Center for Business Journalism, a specialty I once practiced. The heading: “Get Ready to Write More Supply Chain Stories.” Apparently, the war in Ukraine, the tightening of COVID lockdowns in major Chinese cities, the persistent shortage of shipping containers and similar developments mean that supply chain problems will continue for at least another year.
Including the national tampon shortage. I didn’t know about that one until I noticed the kerfuffle on social media, where everybody seems to be blaming comedienne Amy Schumer. Turns out her recent marketing campaign for Proctor & Gamble, the biggest tampon producer, vastly increased sales and depleted inventories.
Schumer denies responsibility for the shortage, noting that, “I don’t even have a uterus.” (As well-informed people know, it was removed last year for medical reasons.) Nonetheless, P&G has cited a problem in sourcing plastic, paper, uranium and whatever else goes into the finished product as the major culprit.
Meanwhile, I noticed something odd in the daily parade of corporate earnings announcements. Increasingly, companies that disclose bad quarterly results are blaming supply chain problems. So are companies that announce good earnings, often due to lucrative price increases on products in high demand.
This whole supply chain thing has become our new all-purpose excuse. Can’t deliver the goods? Supply chain problem. Want to get away with a price hike? Supply chain problem. Late for work? Missed a deadline? Forgot to buy milk? Supply chain.
I’ve been calling the Registry of Motor Vehicles for weeks to get details on the supply chain drama delaying my new registration. So far, I have not been able to reach a human being, though occasionally the call-waiting time dips below two hours.
I’m sure Registry officials would blame their apparent personnel shortage on a supply chain issue. Not enough paper, or maybe ink, for all those job applications.
Which gives me an idea. When the cop finally pulls me over for having an expired registration, I’m just going to say, “It’s not me, officer, it’s the supply chain.” I’m sure she’ll understand.
