I finally went and got my Illinois drivers license yesterday.
I have obviously been procrastinating. I couldn't anymore.
When I went to Florida with my friend Gigi last month, I got stopped by security because my Michigan drivers license had expired. I hadn't realized it. The nice security guy let me go, but not before letting me hear all about how nice it was of him to do such a thing.
I've only lived in three states, but every Secretary of State office seems the same to me. It's there some kind of law that says the office has to be a dirty, smelly, dreary place. Same thin brown "carpets", same looking counters with the same tired, frustrated, sad looking people sitting behind them.
The woman who waited on me was faded. That seems the best way to describe her. Her hair was a dull dirty blonde, still styled with an 80's poof of bangs. Her posture implied that her job was draining the life out of her. Weary and slumped, she asked me in a monotone voice the questions she must ask hundreds of times a day. I was in a bit of a hurry so I rattled the answers off rather quickly. It was like a tennis match. She lobbed over a question is her tiresome voice. I'd return an answer swiftly.
Back and forth, back and forth we went.
When she asked me my phone number I had to pause for just a second to recall our new home phone number. I never use it (and you know how I am with numbers).
I have a habit of looking at the ceiling when thinking about something, but I pulled the phone number out of my sad little number disabled brain as quickly as I could. The next listless question was tossed at me before I had time to take my eyes off the water stained ceiling tiles that my ADD mind was just finding interesting (they looked like chocolate chip cookies). She was obviously pushing to keep up the speed of the volley. The next question was the Hubs social security number. I actually know his better than mine own but I was still looking up while I rattled it off along with the next couple of questions.
Just as I'm getting my end of the volley back up to speed she slams me with a question I didn't expect. "Your weight please?" This time my pause has nothing to do with not being able to recall the answer. I see that weight on the scale every morning. I just don't want to tell her. I'm not even sure why I don't want to tell her. Maybe I just don't want to say it out loud. If I say it out loud then it becomes real. Like that whole tree falling in the forest saying....
I WAS planning on loosing some weight soon. I don't want THIS weight in my permanent computer file record thingie! I just had a little too much Halloween candy. If I'd known I'd have this in my permanent record, I'd have procrastinated even longer, till I was at my ideal weight (which means I never would get my license).
I could lie....and now I'm having a moral dilemma here. Can a cop give you an extra ticket when he pulls you over for lying about your weight on your drivers license?
Yes these are all the things going through my mind in a very quick few seconds. And I'm still looking at the ceiling....
So I shout out a weight.
Not my real weight (NO I'm not telling you what I told her!)
Yes I lied. And I feel bad.
And she pauses. And pauses. My mind is waiting for the next question. And it doesn't come. And I'm feeling guilty about lying. I peel my eyes off the ceiling and reluctantly look at her.
And she is looking at me. She is looking right into my eyes. Into my soul.
She knows I lied. I can feel it. She is judging me. I can feel that too.
I'm starting to blush. I'm waiting for her to say "Oh come on!!! ___ pounds? Really?"
I'm starting to think of excuses. Like ~well, that's what I usually weigh (before 4 kids, that is)
or ~I'm just retaining water.
I'm starting to sweat.
And she says in her monotone voice "Eye color: Brown.
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