Sir? May I see your license, please?
As the line at the audiologist’s office began to grow behind me, I fished through my wallet looking for my driver’s license with the frustration and disbelief that only those who are OCD enjoy.
It wasn’t there.
I almost never lose anything.
I looked again. Nope.
“Ma’am, it’s not here. I’ve misplaced it,” I said, refusing to believe I had actually lost it.
Fortunately, coughing up a co-pay and an alternative form of ID got me in.
I flunked my hearing test and was told to come back in two weeks to meet with someone about an apparatus to improve my hearing.
I drove straight to the DMV, as any good OCD citizen would do, and after holding the door for a lady, I walked in to the next 90 minutes of my day.
As I stood at the “Please Wait Here” sign, I began to hear random numbers called by a computer voice that sounded like the woman on the cell phone who tells me where to turn when I’m using the maps app.
“Now serving number 152.” “Now serving number 814.” “Now serving number 335.”
There was no rhyme or reason to the number system, but what I quickly found out was that the “Please Wait Here” sign was only a precursor to getting a random number. When the clerk finally said, “Next, please”, and was looking at me, I’d been in line for 35 minutes.
The lady was nice enough, but it was loud and I was having a hard time hearing her. Finally, I understood that all she was doing was giving me a number to go sit in a chair in an area full of other people who were also sitting in chairs.
Thankfully, a government employee somewhere had designed the room so that the TV screen which displayed the random numbers for the hearing impaired was right behind me, facing the same direction I was.
I kept an eye on it and finally, number 215 popped on the screen.
As I wrenched my neck to work the crick out of it, I made my way to the counter. I explained that I simply needed a replacement driver’s license and at that point, I would happily give her my retirement fund to get it and be able to leave.
She explained to me that since I hadn’t renewed by mail, I would have to take a vision test and have another photo made. Somehow, without my glasses, I was able to pass the vision test and then stand in front of the vinyl drop cloth and have my photo taken.
She made her way to a printer, picked up a piece of paper and walked over and handed it to me. I glanced at it and quickly informed her that she’d given me the wrong one. There was an old guy’s picture on this one.
After a closer inspection and her reassurance, it turned out that the old guy was, in fact, me.
For a few seconds, I honestly had thought it was someone else.
So, if you’re looking for something to make you feel young again, visit your local hearing specialist and then have a new driver’s license photo taken.
And if you’re OCD, help me sneak in to the DMV and put that TV screen on the wall up front.
©2015 John Moore
For more of John’s musings, visit johnmoore.net/blog