Nick Nolte's Doppelganger

Ah, the Midwest where your entire life’s existence could take place within a three mile radius. No, go ahead and laugh or scoff at this, but I am not kidding. Last summer on vacation we stayed at my parents’ house. I decided to go for a run. I made it to the grocery store and back and still did not meet my mileage goal for that day. My school and my church were one, the grocery I could ride my bike to, my summer jobs were seriously right down the street, and the University I graduated from with my Bachelors was only, maybe, two miles from my house growing up. The next “big” town over was about a 30 minute drive. Getting to any of these places did not require getting onto the high way. Ah, California where one must survive a traffic jam on a high way to simply run to the grocery. Yes, I know, there are back roads and I am learning to take them. The nearest town is probably 3 minutes, if that, away, but again, you are logging high way miles as well as community service hours you now have to serve due to your little outbursts of road rage each time. I feel that California is in many ways a country of its own. When we moved I knew I’d need to get my California driver’s license. I was a bit nervous. I know I am a good driver, but I hate taking tests. I always over think questions then end up getting them wrong. I studied for the driving test. I know, I’m a nerd. I did not want to be an adult and fail a computerized driving test. David came home from work and I left the boys with him as I drove, on the highway, to the next city’s DMV. I had gotten ready to be seen in public, which is the momma of a newborn’s way of saying, “I took a shower and had make-up on.” I had all my paper work in a folder when my number was called. The gentleman was super nice, even though the DMV was packed! It may have something to do with the fact that he had a Patriots decal in his cubical and I jokingly said, “Oh, you’re a Pats fan. I can wait.” He laughed hard and replied that he shared the cubical and that was not his. He did not like the Pats. I then told him we could be friends and he was welcome to dinner. Ends up I did not have the correct paper work for my marriage certificate so I have to put my maiden name on the license. The gentleman, Miguel as we are now besties, said we could hold the license until I had gotten the correct paperwork and I could still take the test that day. So that is what I did. There is a question, “Where can a motorcyclist drive? A) only on city streets B) three seconds behind the vehicle in front C) any part of the open road. Psh! I got this! I’d seen motorcycles on the highway just getting here. Now, “B” or “C”. Well, I remember the question about needing to drive three seconds behind the car in front of you and driving a motorcyle in the bike lane, uh that just isn’t safe. So, “B” it was! WRONG! Motorcyclists can drive anywhere! They can drive between cars, they can drive on “any part of the open road”. *Insert wide eyed emoji* Well, any way, that was the only question I missed! I got my picture taken and was done. Now, all I had to do was bring back my marriage certificate and I was set. A few weeks later, I went back to the branch closest to my house. I brought the baby with me and left our oldest at home with daddy. It had been a rough day, so no shower, brain frazzled, and I almost forgot my paperwork. As I walk in, my heart sank. I thought since it was almost the end of the day on a Friday the wait time would be minimal. WRONG again. I carry the baby in the car seat, as I did not want to have to wrestle paper work and a baby, to the back of the never ending line. Since I had plenty of time on my hands, I began looking around. I realized I was the minority and stuck out like a zit on a first date. Coming from the Midwest town I grew up in there was not a whole lot of diversity. There were so many conversations being had in so many languages, very few in English. Everything was labeled in at lest three different languages. It was kind of cool, to be honest. The people I was waiting with were super sweet! They were not your Disney World “out of town” tourists. They were not trying to get a piggy-back ride from me as they waited behind me and those in front of me would turn and make small talk. It was seriously a pleasant hour wait. I finally got my number and had a seat. I sat down and asked the gentleman next to me if he would mind if I put the car seat on the seat that separated us. His answer, “As long as it doesn’t fall.” What?! I gave him my Midwest smile and a “Thank you”. I sat for about 3 minutes, then baby B started getting fussy. I reach in the diaper bag only to realize, I packed the formula but not a bottle! It was 4:00 and he was ready to eat. I grabbed his seat and walked to the entry way and just started swaying with him. I seriously expected many people to give me a dirty look. However, it was the men who were cooing over baby B and talking to him to soothe him. The women were super sweet too don’t get me wrong. After making a few new besties from all parts of the world, my number was finally called. There was still an enormous line, longer than when I started, and it was now 4:30! I quickly walked to the cubical where a nice lady sat. I handed her my paper work and she responds with, “Oh, dear.” “What? Please, tell me that was an ‘Oh, dear, I love my job and will have to go home soon’ and not an ‘Oh dear, she doesn’t have all her paperwork together and has been waiting for an hour with a crying infant.’” “It was an, ‘Oh dear, she doesn’t realize she has to retake her photo.’” *insert wide eyed emoji* “What are your talking about? I got myself all cleaned up in the bathroom of the gas station across the street. You should have seen me before.” We had a good laugh. I thanked her for knowing that this was not what I looked like in public normally. It was time for the photo. “Look at the blue dot and smile,” she said. “Uh, not until you tell me that I don’t have random hairs sticking out all over the place. If my license turns out looking like Nick Nolte’s mug shot, I will blame you and bad talk you all over social media.” I said laughing. She was laughing and said that she would so not be telling her friends tonight over drinks about the whitest girl’s DMV visit she experienced today. DMV bestie number 37. Here is a preview of possible driver license photos that may make the cut.