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So yesterday I put on my big girl panties and hauled myself over to the tax assessor's office to take care of this dreaded task, made even more daunting by the fact that it was a hot Florida afternoon, and my office is already a little on the warm side. The good news is that I only had to walk two blocks. Florida DMV, or at least Alachua County, has an agreement with the tax assessor's office to provide driver's license and car registration services, and much to my (albeit reluctant) satisfaction, the county administration building is just up the street from my work. Even better, I walked in to find that there was no line. At least this would be over with quickly. Or so I thought. That will teach me to think so much.
Let me stop here a moment to say that the folks at the Alachua County Tax Assessor's office are fabulous and offered excellent customer service. I truly went in expecting to find staff who didn't particularly want to be there and would be as cranky as the day was hot. I was delighted to find that this was one of the few times in my life when I was proven wrong. The events that followed are no reflection on the staff's efforts to assist me. I don't think.
I had not yet reached the check in desk when I was greeted by a cheery woman who appeared unnaturally tall. Being as short as I am, this is not an unusual occurrence, so I quickly dismissed it as unimportant. I might have stood on my toes slightly. "Welcome to Florida!" she clapped when she heard I had just moved her from out-of-state. I thought I was the only one who clapped when excited. Nevertheless, she seemed genuinely pleased that I was there, and I was feeling a bit like company come to call. She sent me over to a nearby counter where another clerk called out "Come on over!" I was starting to wonder if I should have brought a covered dish.
As I handed over my current license, a customer at the next station gathered her things and prepared to make her way to the exit, pausing to speak to my clerk. "Thank you so much, Holly, you were very helpful," she called on her way out. The clerk gave her a big grin, waved, and responded that she was glad to help. She continued waving until the woman was out of sight, then she leaned towards me conspiratorially.
"I don't know where she got that, 'cause my name's not Holly," she confided.
This was fine by me. I didn't care what her name was as long as we got this done with minimal fuss and muss and a picture that wouldn't force me to accidentally lose my new license and need to have the whole thing done again with a new hairdo. Funny, this woman seemed rather tall, too. Do they just grow them big here in Florida?
I rustled my bag of paperwork and documents and said I hoped I had everything she'd need. "Oh, don't worry, we'll get you set in a jiffy," she assured me. The smile fell from her face a bit when she looked at my current license, which she was now holding in her hand. "Well, not too long, anyway," she amended. Florida has quite the complex system for getting driver's licenses and car registrations, made more difficult by the fact that, evidently, the folks in here Florida don't trust the folks up in North Carolina. They won't accept my NC license as valid ID. Ironic considering there's great discussion in Raleigh at the moment about just what kind of identification is necessary to vote. In any case, this necessitated my bringing my social security card, birth certificate, and several pieces of mail to prove that I am now living in their hot, dry, flat state. As though I would want a Florida driver's license for any other reason. I held my breath as she thumbed through my mail, finally putting it down on the counter and beginning to type.
I pulled out my wallet and laid my fingers on my debit card, expecting to be asked to cough up some funds for this little piece of plastic any minute. The request didn't come. Instead, after watching the person at the next counter explain that she's not responsible for the crack across the center of her license which is now preventing anyone from seeing the expiration date, I began drumming my fingers. It was warm in there, but then, I've found it to be warm about anywhere I go now that I'm in Florida. I knew things were not going well when my clerk, AKA Holly, leaned forward with her chin in her hand and stared at her computer screen.
"Well, Hon," she sighed, "why don't you go ahead and take your vision test. We can do that while we wait."
Wait? Wait for what? Not wanting to slow the process down any further, I moved over to the machine that looked like binoculars on some kind of game station and read off the requested line. I was feeling rather proud until AKA Holly asked me to read the next smallest line. I blinked a couple of times but tried to sound more confident than I was as I rattled off the next row. Congratulations, I was told, I have 20/20 vision with my glasses. Well, of course I do, I thought. I paid a lot of money for that vision. And quite stylish vision, at that.
Holly continued to stare at her computer screen, but now she was making faces. Hoping to move things along somehow, I brightly asked "So, it doesn't like me, huh?" She smiled at me and apologized, saying that her computer was stuck in some way. At least we couldn't blame it on my picture, since we hadn't taken one yet.
It was when Holly called her colleague Nicole over (and I'm pretty sure Nicole was really her name) that I realized these folks were standing on a stage. That's what I needed in my life. A stage to stand on wherever I went. Holly and Nicole poked at the computer for a while before Nicole said "You're going to have to call Tallahassee." That sounded ominous. Holly apologized again and went off to make her phone call.
Nicole and I chatted a bit before I asked if she knew where a Coke machine was. This was clearly going to require caffeine. "You want a Coke," she asked. "I"ll get you one." I began politely refusing, but I'll only protest a free Coke for so long, so eventually, I graciously accepted. Minutes later, Holly had returned, and I had a Coke in hand, though I was beginning to think that Coke was going to be my lunch.
Holly was finally able to bring up a completed record for me. She began squinting at my current driver's license, then turned to squint at the computer screen. "Shoot. Tallahassee misspelled your middle name." Resisting the urge to say that a city can't spell or misspell anything, and that I highly doubted everyone in the city of Tallahassee had made this mistake, I took a bigger swig of Coke. "They spelled your middle name Genne--what in the world is that?" I silently asked the same question, since my middle name is Jeane. But I was glad for them to call me anything they wanted at this point.
Holly suggested we go ahead and take the picture, and since I was up for anything that would move this along, I moved over to the blue screen. Beginning to smile, Holly and I quickly realized that the purse of a woman standing nearby was blocking the camera. Ever helpful, Nicole gently tapped the woman on the shoulder and asked if she could move her purse. I suggested she could switch places with me if she liked, but no one else seemed to think this was a good idea. As it turns out, Holly is a pretty good photographer, and so a few minutes later, we had a decent snapshot that met with my approval. It still wasn't as good as my last one.
I finished my Coke as Holly went off to battle Tallahassee again and get my middle name changed. By now, my feet and back hurt a little, my lunch period was over, and I could only hope no one got too close to me lest they be able to tell I was sweating to beat the band. Holly returned, a big grin on he face, and reported that everything seemed to be in place. Her computer was still moving slowly, so I began doing leg lifts to occupy myself why she sent the license information to the printer. I was already sweating. I may as well burn a few calories while I'm at it. Finally, she held up her hands in a big victory sign and said "Alright, off to the printer! You're ready!"
"Woo hoo!" I agreed, trying to look more enthusiastic than I felt. I was a not just a bit tired and cranky at this point, especially considering I didn't even want the thing, but the staff was so nice and trying so hard to get me out of there that it was hard to be upset. At least, that's what I thought until Holly turned to the central printer only to find that the top was off and a maintenance man covered in grease was standing nearby, scratching his head. I looked away. This was not going to be pretty, and I didn't want to see this train wreck.
The train wreck must have been a fairly small, quiet one in which Holly had a serious conversation with the maintenance man because a few minutes later, she was handing me my new license and asking me for my debit card. By this time, I was happy to fork over $56.50. Holly and Nicole thanked me several times for my patience, Holly adding that she'd see me next week when I came back to get my car registered.
I have to go back?
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