On the day of the royal wedding I went to the DMV. I don’t have a good track record with the DMV. I get very nervous. If I’m not nervous, my fury over the pace of operations takes over and steam starts coming out of my scalp.
As a teenager, the nerves got me. I took out some DMV shrubbery. The shrubs were beyond a curb I had scaled while parking the car.
A few years later in New York, I popped in to the Express DMV in Manhattan to apply for my license after getting married. After about three hours of watching other applicants hit rock bottom, my number came up. I was changing to my married surname and keeping my maiden name as my middle name.
The DMV woman’s eyes popped right out of her head: “Girrrrllll! You just makin’ up names!”
Really? This seems pretty straightforward to me.
She insisted I keep my original middle name. As she turned around to confirm with her supervisor, I got a view of her hot red thong and an extra four inches of gluteus maximus that didn’t make it into her jeans. Mrs. Fire Thong now possessed the key to my new legal name. Superb!
But it’s the DMV: What choice do you have?
For all my bad luck I have never failed a DMV test or left without a license. I have managed to overcome my issues with no ramifications–especially since I learned that it’s legal to use an alias as long as you have no intent to defraud. I’m not usually into that kind of thing, but Mrs. Fire Thong left me no choice.
However, this is also not the kind of DMV history that allows you to blow in to the DMV like you own the place, throw down some shells (the only form of payment the DMV accepts), and leave with a laminated glamour shot of yourself.
I started praying as I left my driveway.
Hey, God! I know you’re at William and Kate’s reception, but I need some help with the DMV. If a really good dance song comes on, you can go back, but please try to stay through the written test.
That’s right, I had to take the written test.
Before I went I did the practice tests, lined up my conch shells, and assembled every form of identification I’ve ever received (including my membership card for the North American Guild of Change Ringers). I crossed myself before taking the test.
And I passed.
Because of Mrs. Fire Thong and my subsequent aliases, my Oregon DMV representative was obligated to enter a list of names I might go by into the computer before issuing my license. After naming off six she asked me, “Are there other names you might use?”