At the license bureau

I renewed my driver's license today. It's a task I really dislike but I haven't figured out a way to pawn it off on anyone else. My wife manages almost everything related to keeping our household running smoothly - she pays the bills, schedules the dentist and doctor, keeps track of school and summer activities for the boys. Without her efforts I would likely be toothless, bankrupt, malnourished and homeless. I'm sure, if it were possible, she would have taken care of the license for me as well. Unfortunately, it is not possible. This is something I must do myself.

Around mid-morning, I told my co-workers where I was headed and slipped out, hoping to get ahead of the rush I expected would happen at lunch. As I pulled into the parking lot, I realized that many other people had the same idea. I was going to be waiting awhile. I took a number - 19. The "now serving" sign read 96. I hoped it wrapped at 100. The elderly lady who had entered ahead of me was holding numbers 16, 17 and 18, having had difficulty pulling quickly enough to tear the first couple off. I grabbed a clipboard and an application form and sat down.

I tend to get nervous when I go to renew my license. I think this stems back to an experience eight years ago when I was renewing and I had trouble with the eye test. On that occasion, I had leaned into the eye tester and dutifully read off the eight or so crystal-clear letters from the row requested. As I awaited further instruction, the clerk prompted, "Please read the rest of the letters in the row." As I didn't see any more letters, I just stood there, dumb-founded. I was just starting to explain that I didn't see anything more when the clerk suggested I shut one eye. I complied and instantly additional characters appeared on the row. I read off the letters, assuming I'd failed the test anyway. Instead, the clerk seemed satisfied and directed me over to have a new photo taken. I refrained from making any jokes about promising to drive with one eye closed. A part of me wondered if she had forgotten what had just taken place and I wasn't about to remind her. That was when I first realized just how bad the alignment issues with my eyes had become. Since then I've had surgery on my eyes so I can see all the letters now (I still sneak a one-eyed peek just to be sure). Now my worry is that the letters won't be so crystal-clear anymore. After all, I've come to rely pretty heavily on reading glasses these days.

The waiting area doesn't do much to relieve nerves either. The chairs are all a little too close together - I could barely fill out my application without elbowing the woman next to me. Plus, I had the added anxiety of making sure granny didn't give out numbers 17 and 18 to someone who arrived after me. I watched her until I was satisfied that she was going to keep all three. Next, I turned my attention to the women next to me. She was number ten but she'd filled out her form wrong - another delay, I thought. Rather than leave my comfort zone and actually speak to her, I made a minor production of checking all the data on my form - I practically shoved it in her face. Eventually, she noticed her error and went for a new form. I looked around the room. Everyone here with a number greater than ten should thank me. It only takes a few minutes to renew a license if everything is filled out properly but if anything is out of order it throws the whole system into minor chaos. There were five clerks working non-stop and less than twenty people ahead of me. Still, I waited more than an hour.

Of course, some people were doing things other than renewing their license. I occupied my time eavsdropping on the conversations between the clerks and the customers. One woman was trying unsuccessfully to have one of the Ls in her first name removed from her driver's license. Apparently, it had been mistakenly put there some time ago, soon after she became a citizen. She didn't have the necessary paperwork and, after fifteen minutes, was forwarded to another office. There were a few title transfers - those mostly went smoothly, other than some language issues.

Then there was number eight. Number eight was a little, cleancut fellow probably in his mid-50s. Number eight wasn't paying attention when they called his number. At some point he must have looked up and seen the "Now Serving" had advanced to ten (who, thanks to me, had all her forms in order). Number eight went to the counter and explained his dillemma. The clerk assured him that he would be next. He took a step back, muttered something about people not shouting loudly enough, and then stood there, ready for the next opening. He was standing very near me and I noticed that he would occasionally mutter something just barely audible. He was angry or maybe just bitter. Of course, by the time a slot opened, the clerks had forgotten about number eight and called for eleven instead. But number eight had anticipated this oversight and strode to the open clerk before eleven could even rise from her chair. Sadly, the "Now Serving" had already advanced to eleven which caused further confusion when the next window opened. This "one-off" confusion continued until granny showed up with 16-17-18 and finally gave the clerks enough of a buffer to straighten things out.

I watched the mutterer as he interacted with the clerk. Their exchange seemed pleasant enough. I began to change my opinion of him - to write off his earlier behavior to unpleasant circumstances. He seemed friendly enough now. But then he finished his business and as he stepped just out of her earshot, he muttered something sarcastic before slipping away. A weird little angry man, I concluded.

Anyway, the letters weren't perfectly crystal-clear but they were good enough for now.