Yes, The Pony got his driver's permit renewed yesterday.
We arrived at the license office around 3:30. I was afraid the place would be bursting at the seams with procrastinators who waited until the end of the month. Imagine my surprise when I saw only two vehicles in the parking lot. Granted, it's a small office. But they have at least 20 parking slots, not counting the handicapped. I suppose now that people renew their licenses on their birthday, after a SIX YEAR period of using the same very, very bad photo...that the renewals are staggered. Still, there are those pesky license plates that expire at the end of the month. So I don't know why the crowd was so light.
Just as I signaled to turn, an oncoming car whipped into that lot and into the spot I had my eye on. Heifer! A little blond gal got out of her tiny toy car and hustled up the sidewalk in her high-heeled boots. "Great. Now she's ahead of us. As soon as you get in the door, Pony, you take a number. I'll carry this envelope with your vital information. Go on. You're faster than me."
Let the record show that it had taken me less than 15 seconds to park, and about two minutes to peep in that envelope and make sure I had everything those forked-tongue misanthropes could possibly want. The Pony hopped out of the back seat and started up the walk. He was halfway there, and I was ten feet behind him, when we were passed by that parking-space-stealer. The Pony slowed. Turned around and came back.
"I know what you're going to say."
"See? You were wrong. She's already done."
"Ya think? OR SHE DIDN'T HAVE THE RIGHT INFORMATION! Uh huh. Why else would she be out so soon? Now get moving before somebody passes you."
We entered the glass-paneled wooden-frame door. The Pony milled around like an inexperienced, non-bucking bronc in the middle of the rodeo ring.
"Grab a number!" I hissed.
The Pony leapt forward and reached for number 52 on the hook. A girl at the open window right beside the numbers reached out her hand. "What can I do for you?"
The Pony gave her his number and said, "I need to renew my driving permit."
"I need the old one, and proof of residence." I handed over my check stub. "Come over here with me." She turned to go to the counter, moving behind the scenes, while The Pony and I turned the corner to walk through the waiting area. Just then that Forked-Tongue Misanthrope called out, "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know you had a number. You were so quiet sitting there."
I turned to see an old man grasping number 51 in his palsied hands. "I'm sorry for taking your place. We didn't know." Let the record show that this line-jumping was in no part due to the actions of The Pony or Val Thevictorian. And also let it show that I did not call The Pony back and let that man go ahead. It was all fate, due to the actions of that Forked-Tongue Misanthrope. The old man nodded, and kept sitting quietly. Which is apparently a no-no at the license office. He had virtually been scolded for entering the office, taking a number, and sitting down to wait to be called.
The Pony kept looking over his shoulder at me, but I sat down and made him do his own business. That Forked-Tongue Misanthrope told him to sit down. "Should I wear my glasses?" She said yes, if he always wore them. Most definitely. He took the eye test in the machine, seeing flashing lights with his peripheral vision, and naming road signs. Except for the merge sign. "I forget what that one is called." He passed the eye test. Then he needed $3.50. He turned to look at me like a deer in the headlights. I had told him I was taking in money in my pocket. He just stood there.
"Well, come over and get it." I forked over a five. As soon as he got the change, he trotted back to me and handed me a dollar and two quarters. The Pony is not well-versed in the norms of society. He sat down for his picture, at the scene of that terrible crime that we refer to as the day Val Thevictorian was subjected to the very first day of the new driver's license photo machine and was robbed of her natural good looks, and was told to take off his glasses.
His new permit will come in the mail in seven to ten days. In the meantime, he has a paper copy that he must carry with him every time he drives. I hope he doesn't wear it to tatters.
"Huh. Every time I get my picture taken for a permit..."(words which should not be spoken at all, because WHO renews a driver's PERMIT twice?)..."the photo is worse!"
I pulled my driver's license out of my shirt pocket, because I had taken it in just in case they needed my ID to go with the proof of residence. "Oh? Remember this?"
"Yeah. Ha ha ha ha ha! I guess mine isn't so bad."
The Pony ain't a-woofin'!
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Tomorrow you shall hear the tale of my comeuppance from Even Steven for daring to revel in this easiest license office transaction ever.
I think in BigCityLand, we get our licenses right then... in just an instant.
ReplyDeleteAre yours hand-colored and drawn by a small team of artists?
Sounds relatively painless for a DMV visit.
ReplyDeleteDon't sweat your picture. On my high school ID photo, I looked up, way up, and all you could see was the whites of my eyes. They would not retake it! I looked like a zombie.
ReplyDeleteSioux,
ReplyDeleteWHAT? Are you suggesting, Madam, that we Backroadsians are rubes, not possessing the most basic of technologies that would permit a Forked-Tongue Misanthrope to print out a license or permit forthwith? That we are not a stop on the Information Highway, having to bundle our information in a red bandana, tie it to a stick, and send a hobo along a pig trail until he reaches the closest Pony Express station, where he can hand it over and have it whisked away to an artist to render a likeness that will be returned with a message in a bottle floated down the Mighty Mississip', plucked out by a corncob-pipe-smoking barefoot boy, and tied 'round the neck of a coon hound for final delivery?
That would explain my photo that is good until 2019.
*****
joeh,
THAT is the problem. Even Steven does not smile upon those who beat him at his balancing act.
*****
Linda,
Now I will have zombie nightmares with your eyeless face. Only last night, I was flying on a roofless prop plane with the entire Duggar family, that plane so stuffed to the gills that I had to sit on a dining room chair somebody had thoughtfully stuck sideways in the legroom of one of the actual seats.
Your photo sounds even better than my second-grade picture, where my lovely face, framed by the rick-rack collar of the dress my grandma made me, sported a smile of lips curved inward over what few front teeth I possessed.
I actually had them RETAKE my license photo--it was that bad!!
ReplyDeleteHow did you do THAT? I asked, but the Forked-Tongue Misanthrope that day told me they never do retakes unless the eyes are closed. So then I showed my mom that printed picture, and she laughed her fool head off, because according to the DMV I had a face that even a mother couldn't love, and told me to say I LOST my license, so they'd have to take a new picture. I was all excited about that solution, until I realized that they have that picture in their computer records, and would only print the same one again and charge me a fee.
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