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.

Today I finally decided I’d had enough.  There are two things that have been nagging me incessantly for a while now, and I wanted to do something about them.  They are:

• Get my Utah state driver’s license.
• Get a job

First the job thing.  As everyone knows by now, I was forced into early retirement by my previous employer over the matter of a plastic DVD case which ended up in hundreds of small pieces scattered about the carpet in the DVD isle.  Fair enough.  Since then, I’ve been lounging about my apartment, sleeping in until 10:30 every day, staying up until 3 AM, eating poorly, and writing.  I keep my high standard of living by subsisting on interest and dividends from my investments, all the while looking for that elusive "career" that allows me to work, yet do something I enjoy doing.  Because of insane gas prices and a major — shall we say "downturn" in the recent economy however; my investments aren’t going to see me through much more early retirement, so getting a job has moved up somewhat on the priority list. 

The other nagging issue is that of my driver’s license.  See, I’ve lived in Utah now for two-and-a-half years, while retaining my Ohio driver’s license.  This is well past the 30-day requirement for switching such things over, so this is also high on the list.  I know I should have done this earlier, say a couple years ago, but I just got my new license right before I left Ohio, and my picture is so pretty and… Well, you know how it is.  Things intervene. So I go to the web site for licensing in Utah.  For some unknown and completely unexplainable reason, getting your tags renewed and getting your license renewed are two separate and different agencies in Utah.  This is unlike every single other state, where everything is simply done at the DMV.  Anyway, here you have to jump through lots of hoops and run through tons of red tape while the state employees giggle furiously as you attempt to accomplish anything, so I wanted to be prepared for what I’d encounter in my attempt to become legal.  I found I’d have to re-do the written portion of the driver’s test.  Ok, annoying and unnecessary, but whatever.  I’ve been driving for 20 years, and can drive better than 85% of Utahans while blindfolded, and if you’ve ever driven in Utah, you know what I mean.  Still, taking the test won’t be so bad.  I also found the list of items necessary for proving my identity to the cheery and assuredly helpful government employees upon their request, and I set about gathering them together.

This is where the problem comes in.

• Old driver’s license. Check
• Birth certificate. Check
• Social Security card. Che… wait.

Where the hell is is my SS card? It’s been living in my wallet (succession of wallets) for thirty years. It’s always been there, always. I remember going to the office in Piqua Ohio with my mom and my brother when I was like 5 years old and getting it. I’ve had it ever since, and it’s never left my person as long as my wallet is with me. Where could it be?

It dawned on me then that not only could I not get my license renewed, I also couldn’t apply for a job, because a requirement for working in this country is proof of Social Security. I proceeded to tear my apartment apart to no avail; the damn thing simply grew legs and disappeared. What beautiful timing.

Let this be a lesson to all. Laziness is unbecoming. I should have done both of these things (get a job and renew my license) months, if not years, ago. I’m quite certain my Social Security card deliberately took advantage of my tendencies to teach me a lesson in humility, and now I must pay.

I went to the Social Security office today and filed for a new card. That in itself was pretty frustrating, but not as bad as it could have been. They gave me a giant sheet of paper that the guy said would suffice as a temporary card until my shiny new one arrives in the mail in “about two weeks.” He said it would work for employment purposes (I kinda doubt it though), but upon my questioning as to the usability of said paper to obtain my Utah license, the reply was negative:

“You may want to wait a little while. It’ll take a couple of weeks.”

Perfect.

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