DMV
On this freezing, frigid day, I sprinted across the parking lot catching a glimpse of the DMV in the distance, willing it to come closer faster as my hands froze to the stack of papers gripped between my fingers. I smiled and laughed with a couple passing by me saying how they could feel the snow coming in soon from the grey bitter cold air.
Pulling the heavy door open, I felt relief at the swath of warm air meeting my cold skin. Seeing the crowded room, I placed my mask on my face hoping to avoid the “quademic” of seasonal illnesses my local news had reported earlier this morning.
I found a seat as I waited for my ticket number to be announced on the loudspeaker. Relieved it was moving quickly, I happily found my numbered window when called. The agent and I were the only two still wearing masks. A good sign I thought, alike minds.
He looked at my paperwork and then informed me that to register my vehicle in my name only, removing the name of my former spouse, I would have to surrender the license plates and receive new ones. He agreed to hold my papers and my spot in line as I went to take the current plates off my car. When I asked where I might be able to buy a screwdriver nearby, he offered to loan me one. I thanked him so much! This project had literally taken me months to change insurances, order the Title and get all the pieces in place. I didn’t want to walk away today without finalizing this accomplishment.
Back out to the cold, I immediately regretted having listened to my son and parked in a lot a couple blocks away to avoid meter parking. I would’ve gladly paid to have my warm car parked right oustide of the building for these back and forth runs on this frigid day.
I forgive him quickly when I can gratefully ask my son to pry the plates off my car that appear to be welded into the icy metal. A flathead screwdriver on Phillips head screws. Without gloves the metal felt like it was freezing to our ungloved hands. As my son struggled trying to twist them off, I went into a local pizzeria to ask where the nearest hardware store was. A few blocks past the DMV. Ugh. Too far. I opt to cheer my son on. And he got them both off!
I ran back to the DMV, afraid I’d taken too long to have my turn held. I excitedly rushed into the building, out of breath and winded fom running in the cold, holding the screwdriver up in the air in front of me. The security guard rushed over to me as I rushed past him at the entrance, evaluating if I was a danger. I quickly explainerd the screwdriver belonged to the DMV worker at my window. So they took the screwdriver from me and escorted me to the window.
The kind man with the mask said he was worried what had taken me so long. When I explained about the wrong screwdriver, he winced and said, “I’m sorry I gave you the wrong one. That’s very hard to do like that.” Without mentioning my son, I proudly said, “Yes, it really is, but here they are!”
I was surprised by the excitement I felt as he took out two new looking license plates. I anxiously awaited as we got through the paperwork a second time. And then he handed me my new registration card with only my name on it. At 53, my first car licensed, registered and insured in my name only! I felt more excited than I did the day I bought the actual car.
I walked out beaming in pride and excitement. Months and months of working on all the minutiae of separating financially and legally from my spouse. All the sadness, anger, grief and feelings of loss. All the excruciatingly difficult situations to walk through. And here I am outside the DMV on a frigid cold day, bursting with excitement about all my hard won independence.
