It was time once again to visit the DMV and attempt to get learner's permits for the boys. I refused to go back to their office in Pleasanton so I scheduled an appointment at the office a few towns over. The day before I gathered up all my various types of id, proof of residence, forms, and the instruction sheet that was given to me at our last visit. I say "instruction" sheet but it wasn't. It was a full sheet of typing in 8 point font, 24 bullet points, from a copier in need of toner, on red paper. Red. When she handed it to me, I said, "You're joking, right?" I don't care how young you are, no one can read this. Who even stocks red paper? They had to make a special trip to Staples for this 'fuck you'.
Anyway, I handed everything to John and asked if he thought I had enough to advance past the first window. He looked through everything, spent a fair amount of time, referring to both the "instruction" sheet and the DMV website, then said, "It looks to me like you're good." Then quickly added, "But I am in no way saying that it'll work." Fair enough.
So wearing my "Nevertheless, She Persisted" t-shirt and armed with all of my documentation, plus a book to read while I was waiting (hope springs eternal), off we went. We arrived in ample time for our appointment and there were only a couple other people in line - bonus. We joined the line, behind the rope barrier. As the next person advanced to the window, the DMV gal told us that we needed to be standing on the other side of the barrier and we all dutifully ducked under the rope. For no apparent reason. I can only assume she'd made a bet in the break room. Or maybe there was a running office pool. Baaaah.
It only took a few minutes to reach the first window. This time it was window #5. Honestly, who is in charge of numbering the windows at the California state DMV and can we just let him go? Perhaps they could use one of those red sheets of paper to tape up a sign that reads "start here". While I started to get out all of my paperwork and gal took the DMV forms, looked them over and handed them back to each boy along with a deli-counter number slip. Then we sat down. Wha. Whaaa. What just happened there? I have all these pieces of paper......
(She also told each kid that when their number was called, they would need to do all the talking because I already had a license. This I very much appreciated and should be said to all teenagers. Or their parents. I would have left them to their own devices except I only had one copy of all my precious paperwork and I didn't trust them not to lose half of it before reaching the window.)
When the first kid was called, up we went. She took the form, his birth certificate, social security card, two pieces of proof of residence, and that's it. Nothing more. She did not ask me to provide any proof that I was the person listed on any of those forms. There I was, based on my previous experience, armed with my birth certificate, marriage license to prove the Dawson on the BC is the Moore on my proof of residence, passport, driver's license (which I still refuse to believe is unacceptable) and my social security card. I also had the boys' passports and their student id's. But no, she didn't want any of that. NOTHING. Then the next kid was called to a window and I walked over and repeated the same process. how how how how. I just don't get it. Why didn't I start at this office? This one even had computers for folks to take their tests on. The other one still used paper and pencil, and had a guy sitting at a little desk grading. (How do I get that job?) It was like night and day.
So I sat there stunned while the boys had their pictures taken and completed their tests.
They both flunked.
fuuuuuuuuuuuucccccckkkkkkkkkk
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