Same One I First Got

My first stop on my first morning back in the U.S. was get a ride over to the Poughkeepsie DMV.  I couldn’t drive myself, you see, as my driver’s license was expired.  So was my wife’s.  Mine ran out on my birthday, back in mid-April.  I tried to do it on-line but you needed to upload an eye exam which wasn’t obvious how to secure overseas.  My stepdad has a brand new Honda and he kindly took us over this morning to Main St.

The building is the same one I first got my driver’s license in thirty-five years ago.  The interior which must have first been furnished in the 1970’s doesn’t appear to have changed much since my maiden visit in the 80’s.  We entered, took our numbers and began to wait on one of the rows of big wooden benches.  Settling in I realize that whatever idea I’d had of getting things done quickly was grossly askew.  When does anyone, anywhere ever visit the DMZ and get their business done quickly?

I have a number:  'A34'.  My wife holds 'A35.'  The main room has around twenty-five people and I’m trying to gauge how long a wait we’ll have.  It’s difficult because there are many letter number combinations that appear with a ‘ding’ up on the screens.  Who are the drivers of Poughkeepsie?  There is a large guy my size who looks like he spends a lot of time at the gym.  To my eyes he looks like he might be Persian.  There is an older African American man sitting to my right, and like the Persian body builder he has a form in his hand.  It occurs to me that I should probably also get a form. 

I go to the other side of the office and ask a woman who says she’s not with the DMV.  I go over to the table with all the forms and read through what’s there and sure enough, over at the far left is one for renewals.  I grab one for my wife and myself.  The Persian gent is there as well, on the phone with the person who must be his wife.  “No. You need to get here now.  They need your signature too.” 

Back at the bench A young mother has just been called to the window in front of us.  Her little daughter is curious, boisterous and in this environment annoying.  Fortunately for her the grandmother comes and takes junior for a walk.  Unfortunately for us, the walk ends up being a spirited trot around out bench.  Grandma, as is appropriate I suppose, wants to talk to the little girl, a lot.  She picks her up and puts her down a lot and generally conducts a loud monologue of questions to the child that the child never answers.  I wonder if I will have this kind of energy for my grandkids when I am called upon.

Tuesday, 7/16/19