It’s fairly likely most of us will end up making a trip to the DMV at some point. Recently it was my turn, time to update an address and renew a driver’s license. I took the savvy step of doing as much online as possible including checking the wait times for the actual visit. When that time said zero, I grabbed my husband to seize the moment.
It was at this exact minute that he decided he might as well do his too. I informed him of the documentation needed. Basically the old license, birth certificate, SS card, passport, two utilities in his name and our first born child. My husband decided his “Global Entry” card would suffice since he travels the world with it. Whatever.
We headed out the door and arriving some fifteen minutes later and proceeded to drive around the full parking lot finally squeezing into a spot so tight I feared I would be climbing out the rear hatch.
I walked through the door and was greeted by a friendly employee handing me a paper ticket and before I could say thank you my number was called. As I approached the counter, I was met by a staff member who clearly would have preferred to be anywhere else on the planet.
“Your license?” she held out her hand, the bored monotone was no act.
“Sure, will I get to keep my same photo?” I asked in total seriousness.
“No”
“Well then, would you make me look ten pounds thinner?” I joked trying to lighten the moment. I got a glare and the following question.
“Are you fifty-nine?”
Shuffling through documents I replied my ticket number was eighty-nine.
“Your age, not your ticket.”
“Excuse me?” I tried not to act incredulous. I am after all a decade away from that age and often told how young I look, never mind the fact that my old license with my birth date was in her hands.
“No, I am not.”
“You’re NOT fifty-nine? She asked again with the first sign of any emotion.
I felt sure I must have been on candid camera or something. I glanced all around and everything appeared normal except for my husband at the kiosk receiving extra assistance.
I answered with a quick “No” and tried really hard to stop biting my lower lip.
“Okay then, step against the wall and look directly at the yellow dot.”
I stood for the photo as she inquired whether or not I wanted a five or ten year renewal.
I resisted the urge to reply that it would depend on whether or not she still worked there. Neither of us spoke another word and I walked away with a new photo amazingly absent of any evident dismay.
I would love to say it all went smoothly when it was my husband’s turn but it didn’t.
That global entry card meant nothing except a trip back home for all the right stuff. When it was all said and done for him, the photo on his newly printed license belonged to a different person. As the attendant was made aware an error had occurred she rolled her eyes and stated out loud she needed a new job. In the name of customer service I was inclined to agree.