The approach of this day filled me with dread- not the fear of it arriving, but rather the things that get swept along with birthdays.

This had been an emotional week, what with the memorials and celebrations surrounding the ancient conflicts that shaped our world. At some point I had to turn to my own ancient issues.

Like you, I have a variety of internet birthdates, but I did know my drivers license needed to be renewed, and this is the one the Commonwealth choses to honor. Heck, I have been distracted. The Panzer needs the annual inspection, and I need to print some insurance cards for the glovebox. I veered wildly on a course of action. This was not a routine compliance issue- I have not had to be physically present in a Virginia Department of Motor Vehicles to renew my license for eight years.

That seems quite reasonable, or at least until the week before the eighth year is up.

I pondered the consequences of just letting the thing expire, a seditious thought for a Detroit Kar Kid who has driven 52 accident-free years, but in the end, I got cleaned up so that I could put a good face on the inevitable digital picture that you only have to show in really awkward situations.

If you want to have a ringside seat seat to chaos and calamity, I invite your attention to a story I wrote back in June 2011- the last time I hd to renew the license. It was up in Arlington, where I then claimed residency, and the process was kind of amazing- like a UN refugee train had collided with a Ringling Brothers circus train.

I am not bashing the DMV, please don’t take it that way. The Department just has to deal with the customers, whoever they are, and they try the best they can.

Last Thursday came and went with the best of intentions, but I could not make it off the property. That left Friday and today as the last desperate opportunities to escape the penalty box of expiration, and written and road test perils to get it back.

I mentioned it yesterday: here is the miracle of time travel that the DMV has mastered. I had secured a ride to the facility off Lover’s Lane, parallel to Rt. 29 toward town. there were sixteen people waiting in the triage lane to be assigned alpha-numeric priority by category of need. This is a small office, but time slowed palpably. It stopped altogether when the machine spit out my number- “B-34.”

Then entropy also stopped, and the seconds ceased to register.

There was a fugue state there on the hard plastic seats, and there was no time. I have to say that when someone waved that wand, and “Now Serving B-34 at Window 8” rang out as a clarion to liberation and an orderly universe. Aside from a morning razored out of my space-time continuum, it was painless, and the service was attentive. This is Culpeper, after all, not Five Mile Run in Arlington. People are nice, even when they don’t have to be.

As for you? A merry un-Birthday. And take a look at the license in your wallet or purse and see when it expires.

Copyright 2019 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com