Losing Things and Super Heroes I Wish Existed

I lost my driver license (side note: I never can remember how to spell that word). Or maybe someone stole my driver license. Maybe YOU stole it. All I know is that it is not in my wallet where it normally resides. I also know that a lost driver license is an annoying pain in my life. I hate annoying pains… I guess they are appropriately named.

The story goes like this:  I was going to the bank. I was getting cash. I had to send my license in the tube (yes, I was in the drive-through… I have kids in the car, so I don’t want to park and go in the bank. Plus, I figure I avoid getting trapped in a hostage/bank robbery situation this way. And, I’m lazy).  I got my cash and went on my merry way only to discover the next day my license was no longer in the right spot.  I checked around for it: the place where I put the cash in my wallet, the car, etc., etc. No license.

Did I mention that this particular trip to the bank took place on a Friday?  When I discovered the loss, it was late Saturday afternoon, and the bank had just closed.  It would be Monday before I could see if the bank had my license.

I went on with normal life and told myself I had not gotten a ticket in 10 years and I was not going to get pulled over, so it would all be okay. (Side note: my dad did not agree with this logic.)

On Monday, I made my way to the bank, ever hopeful that my license rested in the safe hands of some sweet bank teller who only had my best interests at heart (they love me because I am their loyal customer, right?). I got to the bank. It was a different teller than I had used. This made me sad… not because I felt this new teller was incompetent but because if I had the same teller, they could at least recognize that they had seen me here Friday and either be immediately moved to give me my license or be ready to commiserate with me when it was discovered lost. The new teller checked for me and said no licenses were discovered on Friday (her wording revealed to me that they do indeed discover abandoned licenses on a regular basis which made me both sad and glad that I wasn’t the only idiot out there leaving such an important possession in the tube). What sadness; it wasn’t there waiting for me. I looked around the ground where I had taken the money out of the tube wondering if the license had dropped and was just waiting for me to return… no luck there, either. I drove home, dejected.

While some would immediately go to the DMV, I did not.  I had a friend who thought her license had been lost/stolen, and she immediately went to the DMV and put forth all the effort it took to replace her license (which is a lot) only to find her old license in her mailbox a couple of days later, courtesy of a kind Samaritan.  I decided I would give a hero Samaritan a chance to spare me the time I’d otherwise have to spend in a crowded government office.

While I waited for my hero,(we’ll call him/her “The PainSaver”, rescuer of damsels who face torturous, bureaucratic line-waiting), I made a plan: since my kids would be elsewhere one day next week, I would go to the DMV then - if the The PainSaver did not show up.

He didn’t show. Dang, I wish I had more “hero showing up” stories in my life! (I do have one great one…. about a man on a cross -  really intense,  saved-me-from-the-pit kind of stuff, but that is another blog entry!)

The new plan: DMV. I gathered my information. The problem with being a line-hating, crowd-avoiding, government building-detesting kind of gal is that I end up in situations where I need a new license. Oh, and I have never changed my social security card or passport to my new married name, you know, the name I got 8 or 9 years ago.

So, I got to the DMV.  I had to drive around until someone left so I could find a parking space. Not a good sign of things to come. I waited in the line for the information desk. I got up there with my expired passport with the wrong last name, my social security card with the wrong last name, and my car insurance proof with the right last name. I figured that the passport, the insurance card, and the DMV’s records would be enough to prove that I am really me. I was wrong. The person at the front desk didn’t even care to look at my expired passport. She didn’t even care that my insurance card had my correct name on it because it wasn’t on the “approved documents” list. 

With the “approved documents” list in hand, I headed home.  The way they do things at the DMV: if you have all your "approved documents" (with the correct name on them) it should be a breeze. If you have your current passport (with the correct name), you are golden.  BUT if you don’t have the one all-important doc, you need, like, 60 others to prove who you are!

So, I looked for the 60 documents (okay, 60 is a slight exaggeration… but I did need four) and finally found them all. I loaded up the minivan, Ole Blue (my son hates this name for the van and refuses to acknowledge it because Ole Blue is actually green. I tell him it isn’t about the color,  it’s about the personality of the vehicle, and she is clearly an “Ole Blue” kind of van) with my birth certificate (original name), social security card (1^st marriage name), marriage license (to show the change from the social security name), and voter’s registration card, and headed back to the DMV (the place I now call “the abyss”).

As I’m driving, I start to worrythat if I had a wreck on the way, all my most important documents would be lost in the shuffle as my injured, unconscious body was loaded on a gurney in the ambulance.  Then I’d really have trouble at the DMV!

I arrived to the crowded parking lot and had to make many circles before I finally found an open parking place.  I headed back to the line at the information desk. I approached the desk with my arm full of documents that proved who I am. Would you believe that it was the voter card that saved the day? Oh thank goodness for the voter’s card!  It may have absolutely no impact on changing the government for the better in the election, but it can help you prove your identity. Go figure!

It seems like this story is finally taking a turn for the better. If you believe that, dear reader, you are sadly mistaken. It was but one leg of a long, long journey. The next part of the journey I call, “The Wait”….. but that, my friends, is a tale for another blog entry….