Last Thursday, our mortgage agent called to say that they had nearly everything ready, but they needed a copy of my current driver’s license; the one they had on file was out of date. Of course, I knew that my license didn’t expire until September of 2008, and I had been putting off renewing it until then (partly because I procrastinate and partly (much later in the process) so it would have our new address on it), and after convincing the nice woman on the other end of the line that this was the case, I pulled my wallet out to look at my license.
Yeah, it expired in September of 2007.
Somewhat embarassed, I told her that I’d get it taken care of tomorrow (last Friday) and fax her a copy, thinking that I could run to the License Bureau during lunch, pay whatever fine was attached to having let my license lapse, and be on my merry way.
“Oh ho!” says the license bureau, “your license is more than six months expired! That means you might have forgotten everything there is to know about driving!”
If your driver’s license is more than six months expired, you have to retake all the tests associated with that license. I can partially understand this, but in the two and a half hours it took to get my license renewed, I couldn’t help but stew in frustration. If I had gone in five months ago, there would have been no test needed. Yet, somehow in that five extra months, it was assumed that I was no longer a competent driver who knew a “Do Not Enter” sign from “Left Yield.”
Both written and driving tests taken and passed, I have a shiny new license… a month before my address changes. Did you know that you have a legal obligation to keep your license up-to-date address-wise? When you move, you’re supposed to purchase new identification. Mine still had my dorm address from 5+ years ago on it.
So, after we move, I’ll go and get a new license with the new address on it. At least this one won’t require a time-wasting test.
Nothing has made me appreciate my bicycle so much. As I biked away from the license bureau, I had such a feeling of freedom. Here was transportation that doesn’t require license or laws (except some minor safety ones), and they can’t tell me whether I can or can’t bike. This is mine, just like the shoes on my feet, no test required.
It’s just so much simpler. Though I have to admit, the entire licensing process was sort of like any physically painful experience: it sucks at the time, but after it’s over, it’s difficult to remember what it was like. The pain is gone, time has passed, and though you know that it was bad, it’s hard to remember exactly what it felt like or how much it hurt.
Regardless, I’ll be certain not to let my license lapse again.