No, I still don’t have a legal Rhode Island license plate. Wait, allow me to clarify, I don’t even have an illegal Rhode Island license plate. What I’m sporting are a matching pair of illegal New Hampshire plates.
Yepper– three months shy of a year in residency et voila.
Is this not a simple matter of showing up to the DMV with my teeth brushed? Do I not live in a first-world country of enlightened beings? Was King Kong not a modern retelling of Beauty & the Beast (without any of the, you know, character development)? If I begin down a path of absurd questions won’t I find myself tumbling head over feet into a briar patch?
photos by Lolo
:: sigh ::
So the SECOND time I went to the DMV to get a registered license she told me I had to have my VIN verified. The VIN. Of my car. That was in view– 15 feet from her. She could walk out and read it her damn self. But no.
I must go to a police station to have them verify it.
me: which police station?
her: oh any one near you.
LIE.
Total lie. I know this now as this afternoon instead of swanning down a pretty lane full of blossoming white branches creating a veritable canopy of beauty in the late afternoon sunlight, I was face-to-face with a cop in a gravel parking lot.
According to my photographic memory the dialogue went precisely like this:
POLICEMAN: You have to go to the VIN station to get that verified.
me: But you are a cop. This is my car. Right here.
POLICEMAN: yeah, there’s only one VIN registration police station in Providence. Do you know where the dark side of the moon is?
me: grrrrrrr
POLICEMAN: no? do you know where the black hole of jupiter’s junior planet cluster is?
me: :: slamming head on dashboard ::
POLICEMAN: okay, so you take that road, go four rights, about 10 miles, turn your car around on two wheels, head up the dark side of the moon and when you come to the third planet cluster go left. It’s about a mile from there.
me: :: getting back into my car :: Fine.
POLICEMAN: :: looking at his watch :: oh, but it’s closed now.
AIEEEEEEEEEEE!
No, seriously — aieeieieiieieieieieieiieieieieieiie!
How big is that tree above? Look closely, that is Daisy at the base on the left and Henry on the right . .
Yeah, I know, first-world problems for sure– but thanks for letting me vent.
Daisy: no problem, mamacita! life is grand– you got us and hey, when bureaucracy gets you down, do what I do . . works like a charm.
bisous, e
At this point I think you should look into getting a horse and forgetting about the DMV. All you'll need is a bag of oats and a saddle.
Oh sweetie, Rhode Island DMV is legendarily bad. Is this your first experience with it? When I needed to get a chauffeur's license for one of my jobs way back when, all it required was mountains of paperwork. I think they assume if you can get through that without killing anyone, you are sufficiently capable of driving a van load of children around safely. My local town of residence at the time (with its own long, sad, colorful history of corruption, nepotism, and favoritism) had me in tears. Tears. Because the DMV told me one thing, and the town told me another, and, well, you know how THAT goes. I haven't gone to a DMV since, I think, I had to change my name. We have AAA, and so far anything we might have had to visit the DMV for has been taken care of at a friendly local branch of AAA. It's so worth the membership fee just for that.
Oh sweet galloping Judas!!! I am sorry to report I LOVED reading your post since it is proof positive that my experience in Florence, Alabama was not an isolated, hillbilly-head-knocking incident. I sympathize AND empathize with every second you experienced. I think perhaps Susie P. is correct and you should investigate the possibility of acquiring a horse……but then again…they probably need to be registered to ride them on a road. Alas. :-p
HA HA HA
oh Susie P — you just made my DAY!! A HORSE– yes yes yes a horse. I will keep it out back and let the streets fill with poop in our wake.
thanks y'all for the sympathetic ear . . oxox, e
It's in your bonnet. And remember, it's not ONE bag of oats. It's one bag of oats plus a bale of hay EVERY DAY. 😀
that is a mighty fine tree.
and. bureaucracy sucks
oh…and the picture of Daisy right above the one with just Henry is perfect for how I'm sure you felt that day……….with your tongue just slightly out; to show displeasure but not sassiness.
AHHH! I hate this for you. Although I must admit that I laughed out loud — chortled, really — at your transcription of the conversation with the policeman. UGH.
That picture of Daisy with her tongue sticking just barely out of her mouth is precious. I so love your blog. xo
This is a great post simply because I think everyone can probably relate on some level. As a friend of mine once said to me I will now say to you: “We can spoon. I'll even let you be little spoon!” Oh, and maybe you shouldn't ever move to another state again, like, ever…:)