LATE NEWS BULLETIN

I interrupt my Panama Canal Cruise Blogcast to bring you this late news bulletin.

Finding out my driver’s license had expired when I went through security at the Las Vegas airport last month put a damper on things.  I kept looking at my license to see if they made a mistake.  Isn’t it stamped on the back?  I’ll bet I checked five times, not being able to believe I had let it expire—and for over a year.  I tried not to think about the rigmarole of getting a new license.  I’ll take care of it when I get home, I comforted myself.  Still, it gnawed away at me.  It was always in the back of my mind.  Darn.  How could I be so stupid?

The first few days after we got home, I was catching up on laundry, housekeeping, doctors appointments, and all.  Then DeRay had to go back to St. George on business.  I couldn’t drive myself over to the Driver’s License Bureau without a license, could I?  (Besides that, I was hesitating, procrastinating, vacillating). 

Then I had the bad experience of trying to vote with an expired license. 

My nervous system was already on overload.  First Halloween; then Election Day.  How much can one bear? Through all this, an expired license hanging over my head.  Does it seem strange to you that I can get on an airplane with an expired license but I can’t vote?  Like the clerk at the license bureau said, “Just because your license expired doesn’t mean you did.”  I’m pretty sure I’m still the same person with the same picture, the same birth date, the same address, the same height and weight.  Well, maybe a little more weight.

She said a lot of people discovered their license had expired when they went to vote.

On with the story, we stay up until 2 AM to hear concession and acceptance speeches.  I get up at 6.  I skim through the driver’s handbook once again;   How do they expect me to remember all this stuff?  Whether to turn my wheels to the left or turn my wheels to the right when parallel parking; or to use my lights anytime conditions keep me from seeing ahead 1,000 feet; 500 feet, 300 feet or 200 feet; or when following a vehicle at night, to dim my lights when I am within 100, 200, 300 or 500 feet of the vehicle. Is it the 2 second or 3 second rule?  Or to park 15 or 50 feet before a railroad crossing or somewhere in between.  Last night during a lull in the elections, I put in a call to my granddaughter, Brigitte, who just got her license last summer.  She called me back after 10 pm, when she got home from Phantom of the Opera rehearsals.  She gave me some good driving tips and hints on the written test.  She calmed me down.

I wanted to get over to the license bureau right at 8 am. 

My heart started pounding just filling out the application.  I could hardly remember my name. Completing that, I didn’t have to wait a minute.  I breezed through the photo like nobody’s business.  When my number was immediately called, I complimented the clerk on office efficiency.  All she needed was my passport and SS card; not the many other forms of identification we had gathered up the past week (I should have taken some of them when I went to vote).  I signed a couple of things.  Oh, yes, I passed the eye test 100%.  I remember one time I couldn’t pass that.  I don’t think I knew you had to push your forehead against the bar to turn the light on.  This girl with three or four earrings in each ear was so nice.  “You’re not old.  You’re only 76.”  Is that nice or what?

And the best part:  I forgot to fill in the “weight” on the application form.  Did I do that on purpose?  Subconsciously yes!  So I filled it in, cheating just a little.  I mean, we just got back from a two-week cruise where we had dessert for both lunch and dinner after appetizers, starters and a main course; then ice cream in the afternoon because it was available and tempting.  When I handed the form back to her, I said, “I hate that part.”  “You should put down the weight you want to be,” she advised me, “then every time you look at it you will be inspired to get there and pretty soon you will be there.”  Believe it or not, she whited it out and I wrote down ten pounds less than the first time.  It needed to be a lot more than that but I compromised.  She made my day.  Already I was feeling better.

“That will be $15.  How do you want to pay?”

 “OK, here you go.  This is your temporary license, good for 14 days.  Your permanent license should be in the mail shortly,” she explained kindly, as she handed me the papers.

I stared at her.  My mouth agape.  I was so sure I was going to be ushered over to the testing area then intimidated by a uniformed hunk and forced to drive on the freeway and parallel park and stop on a hill.  I had even cleaned out the front seat of the car.

“You mean I don’t have to take the test or anything?”  I remember the Driver’s Handbook specifically states:
Drivers who let their licenses expire must apply for a new license. Those individuals should also be prepared to complete all phases of the examination process, to include both the written and skills tests. Please review the new requirements to obtain a driver license on page five (5).

“Nope. You’re all through.  You’re good to go for five more years.”

HALLALUJAH!  HURRAH!  HURRAY!

“Let’s go!” I whisper to DeRay as I bolt out of the building.  YIPEE.  I feel so relieved.  I feel so purified.  My license is restored.  I am not expired. 

“Did you take the test already?” DeRay quizzed as he stumbled out.

“Didn’t have to.”

“Not the written or the driving?”

“Neither!!!!!!  I have a temporary license in my hand.”

I cannot believe my good fortune.  

I went home and pushed the X on the Utah Driver’s Handbook that had been up on my screen for five days.  Close that thing down.  I was reading it every spare minute—while waiting for pictures to download, forcing myself to read 10 pages before I could do something I wanted to do, etc. 

I think the world is glorious and wondrous as can be.

Amy Jayne said...

So when I went in recently to renew my license I got to the point were you sit down and are waiting for them to call your number.   I am the only one there to get the picture. The lady at the counter goes over the intercom and calls out my number. I look around like, really couldn't you just have asked me to come up.  I'm only sitting about six feet from the counter and the only person in the room at the time to be helped, besides the other workers. She looks at me and says, "I know We Have To Do It This Way."