License And Registration Please
2 Comments Published by Chris on Friday, February 03, 2006 at 1:54 PM.
I finally got my Illinois driver's license the other day. On the way to the testing station I got lost, backtracked a mile or two and got passed in a no passing zone (on a bridge no less) by a man in a van who was speeding while using his cell phone. (For those of you not in Chicago, they banned cellphone use in a moving vehicle.) All in all I didn't consider this to be an auspicious way to begin the licensing process. Add to that the fact that I was told by my wife that the people she dealt with at the DMV were very rude. So, yeah, I was really looking forward to the experience.
The Inquisition
When they finally called my number I went to window number 8. Let the ravaging of my carcass begin, I thought.
The man behind the counter looked nice enough. But I convinced myself that that was just a ruse to lure me in. I'm sure behind that grandfatherly veneer he just barely tolerates my existence!
"So...you're from Iowa...Des Moines? Are you originally from Iowa?"
This is a trick, I said. He's trying to get my guard down.
"Yes." No small talk. I won't be trapped by his verbal sparring.
"I have a son who has a business in the Quad Cities and Iowa City, but he's not gotten to Des Moines."
My wife went to school in Iowa City, I offered somewhat reluctantly.
"So what brings you to Chicago: job, school?"
Oh, he's good. I couldn't resist his Norman Rockwell charms. Both I said. My wife is in school at Loyola and I got a job.
"What do you do?"
Oprah's got NOTHING on this guy! I work for The Blue Man Group.
"Ohhhhhhh...You know, I got to give them credit...."
The way he said that I knew that whatever was coming next was going to be the most polite blow to the solar plexus that I or my ego had ever taken.
"I don't know how they stay in business, but they've been around forever. I don't understand the show myself. My daughter went to the show and she loved it, but I don't get it. Do they audition for those parts? What do you need to do, just look good in blue?"
I explained all the technical aspects and acting and drumming prowess that it takes to pull the show off. He remained unimpressed but polite. I can get you an audition if you'd like, I said.
"Oh my daughter would love that. I'm gonna tell her I have an audition for Blue Man."
In the end he seemed more amused by the thought of him being in the show than by the thought of the show ever proceeding without him. I'm not sure how we've survived this long without a geriatric Blue Man either, but if he doesn't show to the auditions I guess we'll just have to muddle through without him.
The Test
I had to take the driver's test too. Now here was the rudeness I was promised. Two women held court over their testing fiefdom, just looking for an excuse to snap at anyone who asked a question or was standing too close to the borders. Fortunately I made it through their line without incident the same way I made it through my adolescence: keeping your mouth shut and your eyes down.
Once I got started on the test I totally psyched myself out. The questions are very easy for someone who has ever driven a vehicle and has a shred of common sense. However, judging by the average test-taker, common sense was not a criteria for driving in the state of Illinois. So I told myself this is written for someone who thinks that brake pads are found in the feminine hygiene aisle of the grocery store. But even with that I couldn't help second guessing all of my answers. I kept reading and rereading them.
"Is that what they meant or did they really mean this? Because if you read it one way it's C, but the other way it's probably A."
I wasn't about to go back to the Sisters Grimm and ask them. So I worried and stewed in my own juices and tentatively marked down what I thought were the right answers. And at some point I just reached a point where I cared more about getting home and having dinner than I did about suffering in that tiny desk for another moment. And that is how I decided that I was done with my test.
I got one question wrong. This elicited the faintest praise from the gargoyle behind the counter, "Good. Go get you picture taken over there."
Denouement
So I guess I really had nothing to worry about the whole time. Which should have been patently obvious from the fact that the state of Illinois granted a license to an idiot with a cell phone stapled to his ear and his foot welded to the floor.
did you have to show proof of insurance? because that would give a special spin to the story.
My last experience at the DMV was rather lame, but difficult considering I had just been mugged and had no ID besides an expired passport and a copy of my birth certificate. No one seemed to argue the fact that I was mugged. Oh no. They believed THAT. But it took some welling of tears at two different desks to convince anyone that I needed a new drivers license.
Luckily I just had to talk to the nice lady at a desk to fill out copious amounts of paperwork and then wait to get my picture taken.
The guy who took the DL pictures was a rather heavyset and incredibly jolly twenty-something who, I kid you not, LOVED his job. He took everyone off guard with his crack of wit. No one expected happy and jocular at the picture taking portion of their DMV experience. I watched a few guys who went in before me get incredibly perplexed. But I think that was more of a language and generational barrier more than anything. They never cracked a smile, but the photographer (for lack of a better word) continued in his amusement, question answering, and helpfulness.
By the time my turn rolled around, I was well armed with snappy comment, come back, and sparkling smile. Complete with coffee breath.
He took the best damn driver's license picture of my entire life.
I thanked him for his fabulous work and continued back into the world chock full of people who should never be allowed behind the wheel.
*sigh*