Get Out of My Dreams and Into My Car

7/11/06

My 5-year rebellion against “The Man” has come to an end, ladies and gentlemen. You see, yesterday morning for the first time in half a decade, I legally operated a motor vehicle. That’s right, dear readers, your truly finally went and procured a valid driver’s license (it’s shiny and everything!) from the state of Missouri.

For anyone who wishes to improve their driving skills, ‘least as far as obeying the law goes, I highly recommend driving around for 5 years with a revoked license. I am now the safest goddamn driver in the city, though that’s kind of like playing chess against a cadaver; even if you suck it’s still a pretty easy win. Why did I drive around for so long sans legal right to do so, you ask? Put quite simply, I’m lazy.

About 5 years ago I got a DWI because, full of margaritas and moxy, I decided to go for cigarettes at 4 a.m. and, on the way back, was playing a game called “England, America” which consisted solely of me weaving back and forth across the right and left lanes and chanting out the name of the appropriate country.

Lost control. Hit a tree. At 40 mph. Before passing out I remember looking through the windshield and noticing that the hood had taken on a new and interesting tent-like shape. At the hospital I showed a BAC of 0.23%, which is 3 times the legal limit and enough to put you non-alcoholics out there into a minor coma.

I took all the required classes and whatnot, but I just never bothered to go back and get my license, which had long expired, requiring me to re-take both the written and the driving test. All of that seemed about as appealing to me as humping a garbage bag full of used syringes, so I just ignored the problem. For 5 years, much to the horror and amusement of my friends and coworkers. It just didn’t seem like a big deal to me; the risk was low. I figured if I didn’t break any traffic laws or do anything silly like allowing another lunatic driver to hit me, what was the point of going through all that stress and time and effort to procure a small card with a bad picture of me on it that says it’s okay to harvest my organs should I be in a messy accident?

Idiotic logic? Perhaps. But I’ve never really operated on the same plane of rationale as the bulk of humanity. I had, for about a year now, been making half-hearted attempts toward getting my license back, but it really got serious when my girlfriend explained to me, at great length, just how unpleasant it is when one has to get their romance from one’s right hand. I saw her very subtle point immediately.

Naturally it wasn’t as simple as merely taking a day off work to go up to the DMV and take the test; no, no. First I had to go to a judge and get him to send a letter to Jefferson City saying I could reacquire my license. That part actually worked as planned; they got it easy-peasy and didn’t even try to claim that it hadn’t been sent or that perhaps I didn’t exist. Maybe this would be easier than I thought!

Hanni and I went to the downtown DMV (the only one where they do the actual test) and took the written portion no problem. They only had 4 computers which were all ocupado so I couldn’t perform my own version of that scene in License to Drive, and had to satisfy myself with a paper version. Passed. Got an 84%. I totally rocked the shit outta that test.

I had arrived at the office at about 1:30 p.m. I finished the written at 1:45. By 3:00 they had still not gotten to me for the driving part of the test. I began to think that the day after the 4th of July is not the optimum for government business. Hanni had gone to get something to eat and by 3:30 I had to piss something awful. There’s something humbling about being an adult and realizing you are too afraid to get up and urinate because they might call your name while you’re away. At 4:15 I finally had my morale crushed beneath the weight of the cogs in The Machine and the officers informed me that they wouldn’t be getting to me today. They were very nice and apologetic, though, and to be frank I’m never entirely displeased whenever I get a reprieve from doing something I desperately do not wish to do, even if it’ll just be more of a hassle later. Sweet, sweet procrastination.

Yesterday Hanni and I show up at the DMV bright and early just as they open. Things went swimmingly from there on out; I was the first to test and scored a dynamite 94%, missing only which way to turn my wheels when parking uphill (right) and using too many “pull-ups” in the parallel parking portion. Then I discovered the actual license department no longer existed.

While the testing operation was still humming along, across the hall of the DMV the office portion had moved to new digs, leaving behind only holes and exposed wires like after The Grinch ransacked Whoville. Sadly, the office where I had to go to get my physical license was closed for the day.

But all was not lost! There is another office on Fremont, on the South side of town. I reconnoitered with Hanni around 8:50 a.m., she having attended an appointment downtown while I kicked the shit out of the driver’s test, and we headed for Fremont. Happily, that office is a mere 2 miles from my home and work, and we got there just in time to avoid the rush that was sent over from the downtown office. While Hanni ate the top off a muffin (Top of the Muffin to YOU!) and took a power-nap in the car I procured my hot little license in a short 20 minutes.

I must say I had a great deal of luck here and it could have been much worse. Whenever I entered the Fremont office there were 3 people ahead of me, and when I left there were 30 people waiting. Still, it would have been nice to get all of this done in one day, as I have used up 3 days of vacation time in the scatter-shot completion of this malarkey.

It’s nice to drive without having to worry about going to jail should you be pulled over. Now I just need a car that doesn’t look like a sight-gag from an 80’s movie.