Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Blog Fodder

Blog Fodder.

This is what my mental state says to me when I'm thinking about being irritated. Blog Fodder. Sometimes it works. Today, for example. When I'm thinking there could be an entire blog called Only in (or Near) the 'Boro. And may yet be. Should I grow some motivation.

So, my driver's license was stolen/lost/misplaced last Monday in the Worst City (that I have to visit occasionally) On The Planet. I am also attempting to have a moment of selfishness in my week and attempting to put my youngest in preschool JUST so that I can have two days a week with my TV and a Yoga video. In order to do this I must vaccinate my youngest who, some of you might remember, had a NASTY reaction to vaccination last year. And, since I've moved, I really need to go into the DMV and change my address and get new stickers for my tags.

Hmmmm...this is sounding boring. Hope to fix that.

I now live in a place where the driver's license place and the public health department and the DMV are not open every day. I also live in a place where the building labeled the DMV is not actually the DMV, it is the snowplow place. Story number one.

I look up the address for the DMV (county courthouse suite 105), the driver's license place (county courthouse suite 102) and the public health department (main street) and find the only day they are all open as I must drive TEN MILES to get to them. (This is a big deal. Never mind that I'm used to driving 20 minutes to get anywhere (except Target)). Why drive the ten miles three times when you can do it once? It is, after all, in our rival town where you just don't go (unless you would rather have Gambino's pizza instead of the Hut).

This is mostly tongue in cheek, I must admit.

So, after false starting at the DMV/Snowplow place (as there is no address anywhere on this building, how am I to know it isn't the right DMV?), I find the courthouse where there is all angle parking and all on the other side of the street and off of one way streets and seriously confusing me, but not quite stopping me from making a J turn and hoping against hope that no police will see me do this illegal manuver as I have no license.

I enter said building where none, I repeat NONE, of the offices have numbers anywhere on the doors. I do finally find one labeled <--vehicles where I enter and tell the woman at the desk my story. Long and complicated as it is. I've moved, I've lost my license, I need to change my address and get a new license.

I am not in the right place. I know you are shocked.

She is kind enough to explain the procedure which is to wait until the door (down the hall) opens, and when that guy comes out, I am next.

What? I have to wait? (She says, tongue in cheek again, as she is used to standing in line for a minimum of 45 minutes to get a driver's license).

But while I have to wait, she does change my address on my vehicles so that I can get new stickers for my tags and I can (thankfully!) get my tax bill. (eyeroll) She prints out the forms with my change of address (that she doesn't require ID or proof of change for) on them and hands them to me.

I go down the hall where I wait patiently for the guy to open the door and come out, which he almost immediately does. I go in where the woman tells me "You can't come in here!"

My bad.

The guy isn't done. He just needs to go get some cash. (CASH! Can you believe it? I have brought cash, but only because I can't find a checkbook and though I was sure they took credit, I feared they did not. It appears I am correct. HA! OK, moving on.) I crawl back into my hole, or the bench outside of The Door, whatever the case may be, to wait my turn. The guy leaves the building.

I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

At which point I try to text my husband that only in (or near) the 'boro, does a driver's license place wait for someone to visit the ATM before taking the next person in line. As I am textually challenged, I give up on that and put my phone away. Eventually, the woman across the hall from me (who is in line behind me) asks, "Where do you think he needed to go for his cash?" and I replied, "Apparently an ATM in the 'Boro." (Ten miles away, might I remind you, as he has been gone approximately ten minutes). We laugh.

We wait some more. At which point the lady across from me says, "I should know you." And I told her, "Probably not."

I was wrong, by the way. We eventually decided she knew me because I was a cheerleader 17 years ago and was very visible at that time. As cheerleaders cheer towards 300 people, the 300 people have the advantage of knowing the five of us while we see a sea of faces. And our boyfriend. And probably his parents. And maybe ours. She said I looked exactly the same to which I replied, "Which just means I still have, Hello, I Graduated in 1994 Hair." She laughed. And then I said, "(her last name), I knew a (her last name).......Judy." And she said, "My mother." Ah. Contact established.

I'm not even safe leaving the house ten miles away. I saw as many people there that I knew as I see at Alco. And here I thought I'd get the afternoon off of the "How do I know you" game.

Anyway, the guy comes back with his cash. The lady takes his picture. He leaves. My turn. I explain my dilemma. She looks sad and asks if I have ID. Which I do. Since I intended to travel to Israel last year, I had a passport which SHOULD be better ID than a driver's license. But do I have proof of address? Why no, no I don't. Except for this DMV thing that she just printed next door. That'll work.

Seriously? That woman asked for NO proof, no ID, no nothin' to change my address (though I could give her my name and the county the cars were registered in and my former address, so I guess a total freak would probably not have all that info?) and THIS is all the proof of address I need?

Anyway. Get my driver's license. Head to the public health department which has its own issues, not the least of which is that I know yet another person. However, in this small town they actually TURN ME AWAY for reasons that I won't go into now and which don't really apply to Only in (or near) the 'Boro. The fact that they exercised caution and sent my son away without vaccinations is something that would never have happened in the city where they treat me like an imbecile every time I darken the door of the PHD. For this I am grateful.

See?

I think I can get used to small town living.

Aside from the fact that Target is 55 minutes from my front door and they won't let me open a bank account because I have no driver's license even though they know my parents, in-laws, grandparents in law, aunts, uncles, and watched me cheer for three years, living in the 'Boro is growing on me.

3 comments:

Michelle Saunderson said...

Too funny. I used to live in a small town so I can relate.

Mrs Lemon said...

12 years ago (before 9/11) I changed from my maiden name to my married name with the following proof: my wedding scrapbook, because I'd already pasted in the marriage certificate - my driver's license - and an expired AAA card. I am not kidding. I was never totally sure that I was legal ;)

Sr. Citizen said...

When we moved to the (boro - as you call it) it was to be for only 4 years until you finished cheer leading school. Then we were to move to MO., and hide in the hills when that 4 years was finished -16 years ago. Now, we are still in the hills and you brought the boro thing to fit in. NICE ... hills - boro.

Still can't find that darn coffee cup - hiding that cup is plain mean. Why, Why, Why? We're not in Wichita after all Sr.