Possumblog

There is no such thing as wasted time.

Oh, I mean, sure--you show up at the license-getting place at 7:30, even though you already warned a particular person that you needed to be out of the house REALLY early because there were only so many places available in line even though the place opens at 8, and anyway, you get there at 7:30, and you see that there's a line of approximately 60 people ahead of you, some in lawn chairs, the rest sitting on the sidewalk, all waiting with the same sense of dead dread of not being close enough to the front of the line. SO, you park, and go take your place at the tail of the line. Your companion hauls out a book and starts reading while you sit there and worry about scuffing your work shoes. Then you sort of nod off a bit. You wake back up and look around. Girl and her mama to the left of you. The younger wears her hair dyed black and burgundy and chopped with a Cuisinart, and has a bright silver pimple protruding from her upper lip. She does, however, have a tiny, almost baby-like whisper when she talks to her mom, which is something of a shock. Especially since the person you brought with you--who looks quiet and demure--is now loudly declaiming all of the knowledge of the known universe. Or, rather--the knowledge of HER known universe, which you and everyone else in line is quick to understand is not quite so deep nor wide as she seems to think. But we are not the target audience, are we? No, that would be the ultra-cool young man with the perfectly recreated Andy Gibb hairdo, circa 1978, who is doing his best to carefully exude his ultra-coolness and hairness, alternately complaining about school then bragging about all the classes he's taking.

At 8:15 everyone in line stands up and we stand up and stand.

By this time, I figure that about half the line--which has now grown to around 80 people or so--aren't actually taking a test of any sort. They're chauffeurs. So, only about forty actual testees. Of those, only a certain other percentage are taking the driving test. How many I don't know. But if there are more than 20, we are sunk for the day. Young Master Gibb did manage to work in some good information to someone else in line, that being that they only administer ten driving tests in the morning, and ten in the afternoon.

We wound our way around the sidewalk and finally made it to the corner where we could actually see the doorway. "The spots for the morning driving test are now full!" boomed the deputy sheriff at the door. They'd gotten through about the first third of the line. We trudged forward some more. "The spots for the afternoon driving test are now full!" We were about ten people away from the door.

::sigh::

Well, not much else to do except leave. I did decide to ask the deputy what sort of information was required to take the test, seeing as how these places are notoriously lackadaisical about having such information in one easy-to-decipher location. "Permit, proof of insurance, and registration."

The latter two of which were not mentioned anywhere in anything I read online.

My passenger and I walked back to the parking lot. "I'm NEVER going to GET my LICENSE!"

"Look, there's several million licensed drivers in Alabama--if they managed to get one, I really don't think you have too much to worry about."

But, you know, logic being useless in such instances, she merely kept repeating her grumpy rote paean to victimhood. Whatever.

Back to home, dropped her off, and went by the school to get them to confirm for our car insurance company that she's had driver training and is a good student (the standards of which are remarkably pliable) and headed on in to work.

MUCH earlier than I would have ever anticipated.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at August 8, 2006 10:53 AM