Picture Day at the DMV

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Christ, doesn’t every hack comedian do a bit on the Department of Motor Vehicles? Why do I need to read a Klog about it? What’s next, a stirring Klog about airline travel?” I had an experience today at the DMV that I thought I would share. BTW, be sure to be here next week for a stirring piece on airline travel.

So I got it in the mail, that little official form that says “dude, you’re getting older”. Yes, it was time to renew my driver’s license. Is there any other depressing memento of time passing by? In school, it was always the yearbook picture. Every year, you were well aware when ‘picture day’ was. You made the proper sacrifices to the acne gods-2 male chickens, I believe. You didn’t want zits. You wanted to have a good hair day. You worried how your braces would look. Back then, we didn’t have the digital luxury we have these days; there were no do overs. You would dread the day yearbooks came out to see how your picture turned out. We all knew kids who unfortunately fell into the following categories; closed eyes, zits, bad hair, molest-ache.

Turns out we never quite get away from that. In adulthood, it’s called getting your license picture taken. Few such days strike fear in my shallow heart as this day. It’s almost impossible to not do a quick inventory of your life when you show up to get your mug taken. Have I progressed any since last time I was here? What significant events have occurred since Uncle Sam last took a picture?

‘K, I will confess to being a bit shallow, even maybe just a tiny, tiny, tiny part vain. I mean no one wants to look like a goober, even if they really do look like a goober all day. I don’t need to see photographic proof to reinforce the fact I am said goober. Yet, I still get unreasonably nervous come picture day at the DMV.

Which is kind of odd. When you really think about it, just how often do you really look at your driver’s license picture? Sure, it’s usually readily visible in your wallet/purse. It’s usually the first thing you see when you open your wallet/purse up. Except for me. No sir, I cover mine up. The first thing you see is my American Express Black Card.

OK, it’s more like the plastic facsimile that comes in the mail with the application, but hey, it makes me feel better about myself. Back to the point, just how often do you look at your own drivers license picture (which will now simply be referred to as DLP, I don’t have all freaking day to type out the extra letters)? The only time you take it out is at the bar-if you are still lucky to get carded. Being well north of 21, it’s still a little flattering to get carded at the door. Even if the bouncer is clearly just doing his job, and calls you ‘ma’am’ or ‘sir’ as he hands it back. Chicks absolutely love getting carded. God forbid, you also have to whip out your license if you get pulled over.

I have always admired those brave souls who take goofy pictures for the DLP. You know, they make the ‘busted’ face, or roll their eyes or look super happy, etc. I think that’s damn funny, But I know if I ever did that, I would get pulled over all the time by cops with no sense of humor. That’s a taserin’.

Point is, you hardly ever do look at your DLP. Even at the bars, you just blindly hand it over, never even acknowledging the picture. So why do I (and maybe even you, for all I know) get so worked up over taking your DLP? I really reckon it to meeting your dates’ parents for the first time. You at least want to look decent. “Yes, hello Mr. So-and-so. Please don’t worry about your precious daughter. Yes, yes, I know she is your only daughter, and your wife miscarried the previous 3 girls. Please do not worry, as I have no ulterior motives or will do anything untoward or disrespectable towards your daughter. It will just be a movie-PG, of course-then perhaps a burger and a drink. Please don’t worry, as I will be more than happy with the handjob she will give me behind Fridays.”

I know I am not one of the ‘beautiful people’. I am OK with that. So why do I get so caught up in this? I am old, I am married, I have little to live for at this point, so why do I care? There’s not much to change. And face it, you never want to screw around with your look-whatever it may be-right before getting your DLP taken or married. I’m certainly not gonna change my scruff or goatee. Really, the only thing I have to worry about is hair. And there’s less and less of that. I know that because I look at my old license. There is long, healthy, blonde hair. Now a days, not so much.

I think I get worked up because for some reason, I think this picture might be on the news some day. I will go off and do something heroic. In a scramble, the media outlets have no picture of me. So I believe there is some imaginary government office that will release the only pic they have of me; my DLP. “And the big story today is the heroic acts of this man, who singlehandedly saved the crippled orphans from the raging fire.” O, who am I kidding? The story will most likely be “In other news this night, this man was found running and screaming naked up on the town water tower. It took 3 sedative darts to take him down. When he was on the ground, reports have him saying, “Where is my rum and where are my pants?”” And then you will see my DLP.

I lay picture day out. Since these places have notorious wait lines, I plan to get there early. Early in, early out. I shower, then proceed to ‘do my hair’. I put in some leave in conditioner, comb in, then headbang for a minute. I find Judas Priest music to work quite well. Make sure some of it covers my ugly mug. Ah yes, sweet, flat lifeless hair. It’s sunny today, and that’s one less things to worry about. Imagine my surprise when I show up and there’s already a line. Damn it! So I wait outside, just enough wind to mess up my already messed up hair. O, the humanity.

I go in, and there are only 2 photo desks open, which is fine. Turns out not too many people are there. One desk is manned by a woman, the other by a man. I start to feel like a girl. I feel self conscious. Suddenly, a flashback to my last time in this very office. I can’t remember too many of the specifics, but I do remember that the guy I got to take my picture, something was different about him. Shit, was he deaf, or mentally retarded or something? It really was something along those lines. I remember even feeling more self conscious. I felt like such a girl when I had to sign that damn electronic screen twice. No, priss that I am, my first autograph wasn’t good enough.

I have suck handwriting. Apparently, I didn’t pick up good penmanship in my 12 hellacious years in Catholic school. Honest to God, my cursive is no better than an 8 year olds. I have seen my nieces’ handwriting, and they are all better than mine. About halfway through high school, it was so bad, I couldn’t even read my own writing. So I fell back to printing, more or less. I hate what has turned out to be my ‘official’ signature. My printed one is far cooler. It’s neater looking, and also, when you bend it in half and hold it up to a mirror, it totally looks like a labia.

Fate calls me to the guy’s desk. It is here that I discover he is cross eyed. Shit! This makes me even more self conscious. I admire anyone who has any such sort of thing, really. I just worry about my reactions around them. I surely want to be respectful. But, fuck, which eye is the good eye, the one I’m supposed to look at?

I sit down and hand over my paperwork. I am so hyper aware, I take off my jacket, I don’t want it to be in the picture. Hell, I even labored over what color to wear today. I am such a priss. So he’s doing his thing on his computer, and I see my chance. On the wall a few feet away is a mirror. I am sure my hair got messed up outside. So I run over to take a look. As soon as I am a half step out of my chair, of course he has a question. Damn it. I continue to the mirror, just a quick glance. But now I feel bad, and I really don’t primp as I would want to. I am sure he’s rolling his eyes (at least the eye that can roll) at me. I sit back down. I have to sign that damned electronic screen thing again.

You know I have piss poor handwriting. Have you ever signed one of these things; they are everywhere. From UPS to Target, etc. No matter how clear your writing is, it comes up looking like indiscernible scribble. I do it once, and it really looks like an illiterate monkey signed it for me. I sheepishly ask to do it over, and he acquiesces. From observation, just about everybody asked for a second shot. I sign it again, and it is clearly no better. I could have all damn day to get a good ‘graph in there. But that would be rude to the motards behind me. Fine, whatever, I can let it go.

Next up is the hard part; the actual DLP. I have no idea what my hair looks like. He tells me to get ready, as I slap on what I refer to as ‘cheesy grin #3’. Look at the white dot and-flash! Damn, it takes forever as the picture comes up to the monitor on my right. Finally it appears and it’s…..eh. It’s about as “not horrible” as we can get. It looks like my goatee is eating my jaw. There’s no bangs hanging down to cover the mess that is my face. And it looks like there is more hair coming over my left shoulder than right shoulder. Fuck, what a mess, how horrible. Shit, how everyday.

Really, if I had the time and knowhow, I would post what both DLPs look like. But I am not that tech savvy, and I fear some nerd could come along and steal my info. Yes, even if I covered my license info with a thick piece of black cardboard, I am worried there is some hacker who could somehow eliminate that and steal my identity. It would be their bonehead move, because who wants to assume the ID of a jobless, penniless loser? Plus, one dark night, the Internet Police showed up at my door, and politely told me I am “far too ugly for the internet, and to please remove all pictures”. I shouldn’t complain; I thought they were coming about all the porno…

So now I am stuck with this for another 4 years. My mug will lamely shine from my Velcro Harley Davidson wallet. (Note to self-it might be time to get a new wallet.) One day you just might see it on the news.