The DMV

I live in a state where a law was recently passed that makes it painful, if not impossible, for one to renew one’s driver’s license. A two-page letter is sent to you, outlining the documents you will need to prove that you are the person you claim to be. Apparently, this is quite necessary due to the threat of terrorism or something. Never mind that our nearest international neighbor is Canada.

I needed to start with a valid birth certificate. The shadowy copy in my files from the 1950’s was long on nostalgia but looked a little short on validity. Rather than risk it, I went straight to the Register of Deeds in the county courthouse and plunked down my $15.00, cash only. A beautifully embossed document was in my hands within minutes. So far, so good.

Now, off to the Department of Motor Vehicles on the second floor. The drill is this.

1)     Stand in an unmarked, I-think-this-is-the right-line in front of a nondescript table.

2)     Proceed slowly to the table manned by Gatekeeper #1 (heretofore, known as G1). She is a cheerful, but resolute, woman awaiting the public’s reams of documents, lame excuses and general unpleasantness. You will need your birth certificate, authentic (emphasis on authentic) documentation of your social security number, two pieces of mail verifying your name and address, marriage license(s) and a partridge in a pear tree. If you are one of the lucky ones, G1 will issue you a number so you know when it’s your turn to visit Gatekeeper #2 (G2). I was one of the lucky ones, despite the fact that my last name is spelled differently on my marriage license compared to my birth certificate. Either, it was not noticed by G1 or she decided that I am a low risk terrorist.

3)     Find a seat in the crowded, stuffy waiting room. All chairs face a blaring TV monitor with three “shows” running for our entertainment: a detailed description of the documents you need to have to get your license renewed, scenes from car accidents, and hospital pleas for organ donations. All worthy programming, I’m sure, but I’m feeling a bit queasy at this point.

4)     Wait. Now calling #31. I’m #48

5)     Wait. Now calling #32. Ugh

6)     Wait. Guess I’ll watch the drama at G1’s table.

Quotes from G1:

“No, I’m sorry we can’t use that cross-stitched framed keepsake of your marriage license as authentic documentation.” (Believe it or not, there was quite the tussle with this one.)

“No, I’m sorry that curled up stub of a paper with your social security number on it will not count. Only the little blue card with the pillars on it is accepted. Here’s the address for the Social Security office.”

“Let me help you. Dig in your purse and see if you have anything at all that has your address on it.” (I guess last week’s grocery list and the wadded up tissues weren’t enough.)

“Do you speak English?”

7)     Wait. Now calling #34. Feeling blood sugar plunge. Found a Mento in the bottom of my purse without too much lint on it.

8)     Wait. Now calling #35. Time to watch what’s going down with G2. His job is to double check your documentation, test your eyes, take your money and (drum roll) issue you a new license.

Quotes from G2:

“Look into the eye machine and read line one.” Pause. “Try line number two.” Pause. “Can you see the big letters in the corner?”

“Do you think you dropped your money while you were waiting?”

“I’m sorry, but we’re not allowed to issue you a new license due to your outstanding speeding ticket.” (This was resoundingly contested, but to no avail. The poor dear had to give up her spot at G2’s counter after waiting for 90 minutes and mumbling, “But I’m sure I paid that.”)

9)     Wait. Now serving #48. Yippee.

10)  Move to G2’s counter. I passed the eye test, barely, but good enough. I paid my money. Only one step left. My documentation needed to be double-checked. And that’s when the unthinkable happened. G2’s eyes looked at my birth certificate and then back to my documentation and announced, “Your last name is different on your birth certificate compared to the name you listed on your application form.” Pause. Heart pounding. And then I watched the miracle unfold. G2 took his pencil and made the necessary adjustment to my name on the application form. Simple as that.

11)  Mug shot taken. License issued.

I learned two things at the DMV. First, I must not look like a national security threat and secondly, whatever they are paying G1 and G2 is not nearly enough.