Lawful or lawless...

For those who may not have heard the story, let me just say that when you move to a new state you can choose to be law-abiding or not. If you were a law-abiding citizen, you would have obtained new titles, registrations, licenses, etc within thirty days of residence. Which seems like a somewhat logical time frame, except for the number of roadblocks prohibiting easy compliance. As is so often the case, the right course of action is not the easiest. Thirty minutes of internet research, two phone calls, four hours, two days, and three trips to the ATM, we finally have our new title and registrations.
     In my attempt to be wise, I did even more research before attempting to update my driver's license. Emphasis on the amount of effort involved. I packed my old license, a current bill, my newly updated registration, my checkbook, and my Social Security card (just to be on the safe side) and drove to the DMV one more time.
     Upon arriving, I was relieved to find that, just as last time, the line for unfortunates needing registrations was three long rows, but the license line was much shorter. Except that there appeared to be multiples... Which desk was the start? The unmarked desk that could be general customer service? The unmanned desk with multiples forms of various colors? The desk marked "License: Address changes"? One of the several desks paired with those horrid blue photo screens? (I didn't want to start there. Not yet. I had almost not made this trip today because I looked awful and those pictures aren't flattering to start with. But tomorrow being Friday, I'm sure the experience would have been worse, tho I would have looked better.)
     I hovered by the unmarked desk before concluding that, as no one even looked at me, it must not be customer service. I stood in the address change line for a bit, but this couldn't be right - I didn't have any completed forms in hand like the rest. Finally I decided on the paperwork desk. Another quandary: Which form? There was a pile of white, a pile of yellow, and a pile of blue. Each had their own little sign which was intended to be helpful, but wasn't. Was I changing my address or applying for a new license? Did moving count as a renewal or an expiration? At last I concluded that the yellow was for a CDL, the blue was address changes, and the white...I still wasn't sure. I grabbed the blue.
     Completed form in hand, I made my way back to the address line. A smiling older lady approached me. "Do you know which line I should be in?" I could have hugged her. She was here to renew, and if a native didn't understand local DMV etiquette, then I didn't feel so bad. But I had to shrug - I was crossing my fingers as it was. The teenager behind me pulled loose one IPod cord long enough to point at the blue-screened line. "Renewals." Grandma headed over there and we inched forward in line.
     My turn. "Out-of sta..." A manicured finger pointed back at the paperwork desk. Clearly I needed the white form and the blue line. More info printed, this time in horizontal rows instead of vertical. Grandma joined me, a blue screen reject. We bonded over deciphering which form was in our best interest, and what information went where and why. It seemed obvious that, although we were both currently successful drivers, we lacked the IQ for the paperwork. Meanwhile, photographers snapped photos of a buckled building wall. Apparently, a legally licensed driver had run into it while attempting to park earlier that day. I had to chuckle at the irony.
     White form, blue line...another sign - something about standing by a yellow sign. But no such sign was in sight, so I waited by the white one instead. A hand gestured at me from the back wall "Me?" I gestured back. It increased the tempo. Bellying up to the desk, I realized why the hand had gestured. The clerk could barely talk above a whisper. It didn't seem like the best time to mention I don't always hear well, so I settled in to reading lips. He wanted my papers. I pushed the pile to him, white form on top. He typed and clicked and printed and pushed papers back at me. Was all the info correct? It wasn't. My name was misspelled. I pushed them back. More typing and clicking and then a sigh. The computer felt that I should not correct my name. A call to the supervisor. She was perhaps out to lunch in the middle of the afternoon? A call to a different supervisor. She agreed that it would be best if my name was spelled correctly on my drivers license and worked her magic to have it be so. More typing, clicking, and printing. Aha! Everything seemed to be in order.
     NOW to the address change line, which was also the money line. Fortunately (for them as well as me) everyone else had completed their business and gone home, leaving me first in line. I handed my pile to the manicured lady who extracted the one she needed and returned the rest. I wrote out the check, resigned to the fact that, although I had just paid to update my old license, there wasn't going to be any refund. In return, she handed me a single sheet of paper printed with my photo and the reassuring words "With Driving Privileges." I certainly hoped so.
     Behind me I heard a steady flow of Spanish. A translator was assisting a non-English-speaker to move through the chaos. At that moment I realize that - despite the fact that I am native to the country, raised speaking the language, college-educated, and score high on standarized tests - I wish I had a translator, too.
     ~Stick to it!