Department of My Vanity

I had to go to the DMV yesterday. Rather, I didn't actually have to go yesterday. It would not have been my choice to celebrate St. Paddy's at the DMV, but I had already unthinkingly scheduled some other things and put in for a personal day, so it seemed like I might as well time to hit up the DMV and get it over with. I had been meaning get a New York license for a while - had been trying to beam at bouncers in the city who carded me that I have actually lived here for quite some time - but the old one was due to expire in June and if I didn't replace it by then I would have to take a road test to get a new one. Considering that I failed my first three road tests on the quiet Midwestern streets where I grew up, my motivation was strong.

I know that the tribulations of dealing with governmental agencies has been widely documented, but here is the part I find most baffling about the DMV: In order to exchange my out-of-state license for a NY one, I had to take to the DMV my current license, my passport, and my social security card. In short, I WAS EXPECTED TO CARRY, ON MY PERSON, MY ENTIRE IDENTITY, including the part (SS card) that you're not ever supposed to carry, per the government's warnings, on your person. I have never been more fearful of getting mugged. Also, if you want to dress all scruffy to indicate that you have nothing to steal - careful. You're also getting your license picture taken.

That is why I had spent more time than almost ever getting gussied up for my close-up, strategically placing my documents in my undergarments, and cleverly hiding my natural glamor with a nothing-to-see-here jacket, then stripping the jacket off at the last minute to stand in front of the picture wall, that looked like all the other walls. Imagine my disappointment when the picture-taking lady didn't say smile, didn't tell me when she was taking the picture, and - worst! - didn't offer to let me see the result in case I wanted a re-do. I knew it was too much to hope for; this, more than the license exchange, is the real right of passage, the real evidence I'm not in Minnesota anymore.

I live in dread of getting a bad license picture in the mail and will be biting my nails until then.