Like a lot of people, I’ve had my trusty driver’s license since I was sixteen.  In fact, I believe I got it the day after I turned sixteen.  I was in a bit of a hurry I guess, because most of the kids I went to school with were older than me, and some of them already had theirs, so I didn’t want to be left out for too long.  There was a brief period of time, about 30 days if I recall, where my license was suspended though.  That happened because of a speeding ticket I received not too long after getting it.  Suspension was standard practice for anyone under 18, and I had to go to court and pay a fine.  I learned my lesson after that, and kept my offenses to things like expired tags and parking tickets thereafter.

Just this past week, I decided that after living here in Utah for more than three years, I should probably go and finally get my Utah state driver’s license.  I’ve been putting it off for a couple of reasons:  Namely, I’m lazy, I plain forgot on numerous occasions, and finally, my old license from Ohio didn’t expire until this year.  Color me silly, but I had just got that license before moving here, and the thought of sitting in that damn license bureau for endless hours did not seem appetizing at all, so I suppose I just kept putting it off.  That, and there’s the issue that in Utah, if you’re from out of state, you have to re-take the written portion of the examination before you can be granted a Utah license.  Bah!  As if I wanted to be subjected to that!  It’s not like anyone here in Utah follows any of the rules of the road anyway.  Why should I be tested on useless rules?  Most of Utah is endless desert.  I was skeptical that there even were any driving rules here.

After finally running out of excuses, I made my way down the the testing center slash torture chamber last week.  I researched a bit online, so I went prepared.  I had:  My old license, my social security card, two proofs of address, my mother’s maiden name, and about as much patience as I could muster up.  I was also required to produce twenty five dollars, which I did so reluctantly.  I also had to fill out a rather long form and stand in a line, all so I could get a number to wait.

I was given number 525.  Ok, let’s see… there’s a screen here somewhere saying what number they’re currently serving… where is… there it is!  They are on number 201.  201!  Are you kidding me?!  Noooo! I stared down at my number, thinking it must be some sort of joke, but no amount of wishful thinking or staring made it change, so I resigned myself to a long wait and parked it on the World’s Most Uncomfortable Plastic Chair.  It was at that point that time pretty much stopped.

I amused myself by sending a couple of text messages to friends, playing around with my phone, trying to find attractive women to stare at (no luck), watching (and loathing) the numerous giddy and ecstatic teenagers fidgeting around me, and smiling with some amusement at a handful of Mexicans who, upon receiving their test booklets which were apparently only available in English, sulked mournfully toward the testing station with apprehensive looks on their faces.  Finally, after a length of time approximately the same as the Bush administration, (both of them) my number was called and I made my way forward.

Manners are not the forte of government employees, and the licensing bureau is no exception.  I presented all of my documentation to Ms Rudy McRude, and she proceeded to take as much time as possible processing me, tapping away on her little computer and asking me stupid questions.  After taking my money, she handed me a test booklet (only available in English) along with some instructions and pointed me toward the testing station.  Finally!  Progress was being made, and I could escape this hell soon.  I just needed to get past this stupid test.

Fortunately for me, but unfortunately for other people, the tests are done on a touch-screen computer nowadays.  I say unfortunate for others, because there were a couple of older people there who looked positively lost.  I passed an old lady who stared up at her computer with a look of complete mystery, like an alien had just landed in front of her and she was required to communicate with it.  There was another exasperated-looking lady who was apparently forced to bring her kids, kids who were at that moment running up and down the isles and banging on the screens of unattended computers.  The Mexicans were still there as well, fumbling through their test booklets in kind of a panic.  I sat down at my own screen and began the quiz, using my extremely handy ability to speed read at an insane level, so questions that popped up sent me buzzing through the booklet at light-speed as I rendered the test complete in a short amount of time.  Most of the questions were pretty standard, but a couple of them sent me on a booklet-flipping spree which rivaled the Mexicans.  Even so, I managed to make quick work of it.  I tapped the “finish” button on the screen, then made my way up to the counter to claim my newly conquered prize.

Only… not.  Huh?  In Ohio, after you take the test or renew, you walk out with your new license.  In Utah, they give you a printout of a picture of your license, and tell you they’ll mail you the real deal in two weeks.  Why is that?  I sat down and took my new HEINOUS picture, (seriously, what’s with those pictures?) then waited for Ms Bitchy McBitch to mumble rude comments under her breath about stupid people while she processed my fake-looking printed-out never-gonna-fool-a-cop coulda-made-this-at-home-myself driver’s license.  I accepted my printout with a smile, and politely made my way out past the befuddled Mexicans and old people and hyper-excited teenagers to the bright sunlight and freedom.

That was my exciting experience.  I learned that you’re supposed to transfer your license within 30 days of moving to a new state, technically.  So I was a couple of weeks off.  No big deal.  The deed is done, and I’m newly licensed to drive.

A rant:  I was out and about today, doing some of this and a little of that.  Driving around town running some errands and getting things done.  You know, the usual.  I’ve come to observe that In my time living in Salt Lake City, nothing has been more apparent to me than the lack of driving skill demonstrated by my fellow motorists.  It’s truly appalling.

Apparently, sometime in the 20 or so years since I’ve had a driver’s license, stopping at red lights has become optional.  I’d like to say this is wrong, but I’m not sure.  I have yet to obtain my Utah state driver’s license, so perhaps when I go in to take the test I will find that the law has changed and it is indeed optional to stop when the light turns red.  Or maybe it’s just Utah.  Hard to say.  I will say though, and I know I’ve stated this in the past –probably in this very blog somewhere– that I’m quite the expert on driving.  I have literally driven in almost every major city in the continental United States.  I’ve operated a car in Los Angeles,  New York, Orlando, Las Vegas, Chicago, Denver, Dallas, Oklahoma City, Seattle, San Francisco, Columbus, Cleveland, Washington DC, Indianapolis, San Diego, Tampa, St. Louis, Boston, Detroit… I mean the list keeps going and going.  You must believe me when I say, because I know, that the worst drivers anywhere are in Salt Lake City.  Overall driving skills… I’m talking about obeying the rules and just common courtesy, are atrocious beyond belief here.

Just in the few hours I was out this afternoon, I started counting the number of red lights run.  I lost count somewhere around six or seven.  These were blatant red light violations too, not just close calls.  In many instances, the light had already turned green for the cross traffic.  A majority of these were lights that had turned yellow a good three or four seconds before these cars approached them.  There was no way the drivers could have thought even for a second that they’d actually made the light.

It’s not like the police aren’t around.  I do see cars pulled over occasionally on the interstate, or on the roads.  Perhaps it’s not for traffic violations though.  Maybe they simply weren’t displaying the proper sticker in the rear window.  I don’t know.

I asked a coworker shortly after moving here why the drivers were so bad.  He was a native to Salt Lake, and fully admitted wholeheartedly that Utah residents were indeed the worst drivers (he traveled with me around the country too), and told me that it was simply the driver’s education programs.  Worst in the country, he said.  I didn’t get any statistics to back this up, but it made sense.  People here literally can’t drive well because they simply don’t know how.  It’s logical.

At any rate, I’m going to end my rant now.  It’s been a long and tiring, but productive day, despite all the near brushes with disaster I encounter daily whilst commuting to and fro.  I think tomorrow I’ll go down and finally get my Utah license.  At least it’s good to know now that stoplights are optional.