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Well, I had to renew my driver’s license a couple days ago. Not a usually pleasant experience, especially if one has to stand in line at the BMV. It’s everything the comics make it out to be, except there weren’t any screaming babies in line with me today.
The best part about renewing your license? It’s got to be those lousy photos. You know what I’m talking about, those horrible mug shots that make everyone look twenty pounds heavier and anemic, like famished vampires after a thirty day bender, dark circles under their eyes and grimaced looks on their faces.
Yeah, that’s how I look on my license.
Renewing my license is also a good way to reflect on the previous four years. And it gives me something constructive to think about standing in line amidst the screaming babies and smelly ex-cons.
I typically reflect on the physical things, like how my weight has changed (it usually increases), whether or not my height has changed (no shrinkage yet – still 6’3″), have I’ve lost any more hair (no!), is my hair still blond (not really, but the lady behind the counter said I have more blond than gray, so she went with blond, although it’s really more like dirty brown).
Once I reached the counter, I had to go through the eye test. Usually this is easy, but I suddenly got worried when I couldn’t see the flashing light that the little old lady kept asking if I could see.
“Which side do you see the flashing light?”
“I don’t see a flashing light.”
“Tell me which side has the flashing light.”
“I don’t see a flashing light.”
And this went on for what seemed like an eternity, until I finally saw one of the solid lights on my right flash once.
“The right side!” I sputtered, hoping I had seen the correct light flash so this could all be over.
I must’ve been right, because the little old lady then shuffled me over to the backdrop for my picture. Sounding like my mother, she told me to sit up straight and look into the camera.
“Smile,” she croaked. I grimaced.
When I showed my license to the wife, she asked why I looked funny in the picture. I explained to her that if I had to show my license to someone, like, say, a police officer, I probably wouldn’t be in a good mood. So why smile? The grimace was more appropriate.
The wife thought I looked constipated.
Sit Up Straight And Smile, Young Man!
