Episode III: DMV Boss Fight
Armed with a sheaf of documents, S and I headed to the DMV for the third time in four weeks. We were turned back at the door because we had sodas in our hands. No food or drink allowed.
I gave the sodas to S to take back to the car and got in the red carpet, we-have-an-appointment line, which was mercifully short. We presented the new birth certificate, the filled out form and a utility bill that listed my name as well as DH’s.
The clerk gazed upon us benignly. She looked at the birth certificate, nodded and picked up the utility bill. Her smile faded. She looked back at the birth certificate. Then she looked at me.
“Ma’am, have you ever had a California driver’s license in your maiden name?”
My maiden name? I’ve been married for 23+ years. Why would I have a driver’s license in my maiden name?
“No,” I said politely, “but my name is on the utility bill. It’s the second name listed.”
“That’s your married name. If you don’t have anything in your maiden name, I’m going to need your marriage license.”
Say what?? A marriage license. For my son to get his driver’s license, I need to present a marriage license?
For some regulatory reason now lost to time, California wants a woman to put her maiden name on her baby’s birth certificate regardless of how long she’s been married or what her legal name is on all other records. This means that my name as shown on S’s birth certificate doesn’t match any document I posses, nor can it because I haven’t been Dia Maiden Name for almost a quarter century.
The clerk hands us our papers back… but as she does, she notices the bright yellow papers in my sheaf of documents.
“Those!” she says. “The yellow ones. Give me those!”
I check my inventory. Those are the report cards. I hand them over.
Her beatific smile returns. She shuffles the papers, stacks them neatly and binds them with a golden paper clip.
“You’re early. I can’t check you in until ten minutes before your appointment. Come back then.”
We’ve made it past the front desk! We’ve never gotten this far before, so we make sure to save our game before we head to the waiting area to, well, wait.
Ten minutes later, we present ourselves again and the clerk gives S his take-a-number-please number. More waiting.
They call his number in another ten minutes, and everything goes smoothly from there. The DMV doesn’t take credit cards, I’ve forgotten to bring cash and who writes checks anymore? My ATM card suffices.
S passed the written test, a bit more waiting and then his learner’s permit was passed into his happy little hands. They give us an official lecture about how he has to have someone over the age of 25 with with him when he drives. S and I silently note that they didn’t say the person had to be A) awake, or B) sober. Not that we’re planning any of that, mind you, but hey, loopholes.
So, tl;dr, the DMV has been vanquished, and S will soon be driving on streets and sidewalks near you. You have all been duly warned.
DH, btw, whose name is on all of the other residency-proving documents, and who wasn’t forced to list his name inaccurately on S’s birth certificate, is in Dublin, squarely in the path of Hurricane Ophelia. Because who worries about possible hurricanes when booking a business trip to freaking IRELAND?