License to thrill

This morning, after six long years, I got a new driver's license.  Normally getting a new license isn't cause for celebration, but consider this: when I got my license renewed six years ago, I was 8.5 months pregnant.  And in desperate need of a haircut.  And pre-LASIK.  Essentially, for about six years, I've carried a license that looks nothing like me.  I've dealt with tons of skeptical TSA agents who take twice as long to scour my license and my face, trying to make the match before whistling, "Wow.  This doesn't look like you at all."  I know.  I've dealt with overzealous Kohl's cashiers checking to ensure my license matches my credit card.  "You cut your hair!"  I know.  I've had friends laugh their asses off when entering bars, "Holy crap!  Look at that!"  I know, already.

Yes, I know this doesn't look like me.  Thank goodness.

So today was a momentous day.  The day when I can hand over my license and remain silent, not having to offer the obligatory, "I was eight and a half months pregnant, okay?"

I got to the license office right at 8, when they open.  There were two people ahead of me, both of whom went to the right, the white numbers, for vehicle plates.  I was directed to the left, and the blue numbers, for driver's licenses.  There was one woman staffing the driver's license desk, and she looked at me, nonplussed.  I took a number.  And waited for a good 10 seconds.  "Fifteen?"  "Here."  It was straight out of John Belushi's book in Samurai Delicatessen.

She asked all the questions:
"Would you like to donate your organs?"
"Yes."
"Do you still live at this address?"
"Yes."
"Are you still five feet, seven inches?"
"Yes."
"DO YOU STILL WEIGH 140 POUNDS?"

(Yes, she yelled it.  B*tch.)

Um, no.  Let's nudge that up a bit.  I still whacked 25 pounds off my actual, current weight, but it's a little more realistic now.

I let her know that I had LASIK done and so no longer require glasses or contacts.  She had me look in the vision machine, read the top row, and identify the signs.  Then she asked, "Do you wear contacts?"

After everything was processed, she told me to have a seat while my new license was being made.  I sat, while the two people I came in with continued to have their vehicle plates registered.  There was no one else in the office.  After 45 seconds, she yelled, "AMY?!"  You know, to be heard over the crowd.

It took everything I had not to burst out laughing.  The whole thing seemed straight out of a sitcom.  I walked away, thrilled.  My new license picture isn't great, but holy smokes, is it better than what I had.