I’ve joined Kate today while she and the Chester River Ramblers play Java Rock in Rock Hall. It’s a really cute coffee house and the music is fantastic as always. What’s better though is listening to Ben, the Englisu guitarist and a hilarious Englishwoman who happened to be in the audience banter back and forth about the south vs. the north, the merits of rust on Tower Bridge, etc.
Not a bad way to spend a feverish afternoon.
Oh, readers, this morning was magical. Kate and I drove to Easton, MD to get her a brand new Maryland state driver’s license. At the MVA. Because, unlike the rest of the freaking country, it’s not a DMV. Oh, no…in Maryland, the MVA is an establishment where licenses are given, driving tests are administered, etc. You can see the need for a unique name.
Name aside, the MVA is in Easton, which is approximately 45 minutes away, so it’s exceptionally convenient to just pop on by. Being that it’s a decent haul to get there, Kate rightly visited the MVA website to learn what materials would be required for the state-swap. The verdict: two forms of ID, proof of residence, old license, checkbook. Basically, all the bases were covered before we departed.
We arrived at 10:30 and were greeted by a lovely banner that encouraged us to visit the MVA online to complete our service request more conveniently. There was a sense of certainty in the assembled materials. There was also a feeling of 1996 brought on by the lovely decor of the MVA office. We were certain Janet Reno would dropping by in practical shoes to dial in to the Internet at any moment.
Friends, a trip to the “MVA” or DMV really allows you to wade deeply into the mainstream of your fellow Americans. And it’s simultaneously frightening and delightful. We shared a bench with the most incredible pair of ladies with gorgeous feathered hair. A snippet of their conversation that caused me to double over with laughter:
Woman: “If you don’t take care of ’em, they’ll accuse you of being a bad parent. It happened to me once.”
Kate & I: *intense snickering*
Woman: “…I live by route 50 and I just let ’em out. It’s not like they say “I want to go get hit by a car.” How are you supposed to know?”
Kate & I: *totally dying*
Of course, while all of this is going on, we have essentially an entire Latin American village surrounding us in the MVA. I mean, I can understand coming with your some of your family or consolidating trips. But sweet god: there were grandmas, nieces, aunts, pregnant ladies, dudes in work boots. It was like a damned quinceañera up in there…but with no cake! Honestly, every time I turned around, there was yet another person standing, sitting or kneeling beside the family of five that had started out sitting on the bench in front of us. To make it even more interesting, one of our Spanish-speaking friends decided that her turtleneck sweater was too much to handle and had her friend/sister/cousin tear the collar off. Right off…right there in the middle of the MVA! The assembled herd of children then proceeded to jostle for the right to hold the discarded sweater neck. So much so that the “father” had to escort the neck and at least two kids outside. Seriously.
Truly amazing. I turned to Kate and confessed that I was only worried I wouldn’t be able to remember all of the amazing things I saw to talk about them when we left.
And we left much sooner than we had imagined, even with an hour and fifteen minute wait. Because, it seems, the MVA decided to change their licensing requirements to include TWO proofs of residence and only one form of ID. They just hadn’t published them online yet. So, when Kate’s number was finally called, all the woman behind the counter could give her was an apology and a brochure of the new requirements.
In a rage, we hauled ass to Starbucks and then took our Starbucks to Wendy’s for twice the consolatory fast food.
Observations from evening number one with High Definition DirecTV service:
That is all for now, I think. I’m rather enjoying this upgrade but I feel that, as we enter into hour 4, my brain is starting to rot. It might be time to read.
Sometimes (and this is a rare sometimes for a loner like me) it strikes me just how many people I’ll never know. Like this adorably awkward little girl at the optometrist this afternoon. We’ll sit here in silence, she too young to make conversation with an adult, me not wanting to be that skeezy dude talking to little girls in waiting rooms.
Why though? So many potential conversations are completely ignored day in and out because it’s weird to talk to strangers or we are busy or what have you.
And maybe that’s okay? Maybe that’s what makes the connections we do have matter? Maybe I’ll sit here with my iPhone and she’ll sit with her head in her hands and we’ll go on our separate paths, back out of one another’s realities.