“So, Yeah, like, it's been a while since my last, like, real blog post..”
Sorry, California and all the 'likes' are infecting my language.
Last week after Phin's birthday I continued my step-by-step program of becoming a fully registered and carded American. The place to do it? Your friendly local DMV office.
I didn't really know what to expect, but had seen enough DMV-visit episodes in TV sitcoms to make an appointment instead of just showing up. Good thing too, 'cause the place was a real people factory, complete with a multiple step fabrication process and many robot-like operants.
For the Dutch:
Van het kastje naar de muur gestuurd worden is altijd vervelend, maar na een bezoek aan een Amerikaanse DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles) klaag je nooit meer over een bezoek aan het postkantoor of Bureau van Burgerzaken. Dit had nog het meeste weg van die verhalen over Sovjet bureaucratie met 20 kastjes, 4 muren, 16 soorten stempels en 8 rijen. Die rijen vielen dan nog mee, want je bent gelukkig als je MAG aansluiten. Er stonden, letterlijk, 200 stoelen in de ruimte, bestemd voor mensen die nog opgeroepen moesten worden om vervolgens ergens aan te sluiten...
we continue:
I got to the DMV 5 minutes later than the appointed time of 15:40 (3:40 PM), and realized that I had to get in the 'have an appointment' line. Luckily this line was the quickest in the building and I was soon handed the proper form to apply for a drivers license.
-Quick flashback: In October 2007 I applied for a social security number. As a vacation-only American I had never needed one before, but since I knew I'd be looking to work at some point during our stay in SF I went to our local consulate in Amsterdam, armed with my passport and birth certificate, proclaiming me a citizen born abroad. While waiting for my application to be routed via Dublin (Europe's rally point for all things U.S. and bureaucratic) to Baltimore and back, I had visions of receiving a notice requiring me to turn in my passport. “Sorry sir, but in these post-9/11 times you have been tried and found wanting as a true American. Please proceed to your consulate and relinquish your identification. Failing that, you could, of course, join the Army for a tour of duty in Iraq. Regards, etc.. “ Thank God (just trying to be American), this never happened and come 22nd November 2007, I was awarded a smallish cardboard square with my name and spanking new number.
Using my passport and Social Security card I was able to prove that I was indeed eligible for a drivers license and was soon awarded an appointment-makers-only number with which I could wait for the next step in the process. Sure enough, after about 15 minutes F880 (that would be me) was requested to appear at window 19. Here I was helped by a nice young lady who was slightly bemused that a 28-year-old man should be applying for his first drivers license. I quickly explained that I have been driving for almost 10 years, using my Dutch license, which I was able to get because I am, in fact, also Dutch. A double agent if you will. That last remark was apparently a big mistake on my part, as her eyes went wide and she whispered (I swear) “Don't say that here!”. After regaining composure, she looked at the clock and frowned. “You need to take the written test, but they don't let you take those after 4:30. If I send you to the line to have your picture taken you might not make it” It was, like, 4:05, so she had me worried. I really did not want to go through all this just to come back the next morning and get back in some line. “I'll help you out, go to window 7 and I'll meet you there”. I guess all my smiles were paying off, 'cause sure enough she appeared at window 7, took my picture (and fingerprint), and sent me to the line for the written test at 4:15 sharp!
After all of the above, I had almost forgotten this was going to be the most exciting part of my visit. I might have been driving for 10 years, but the US, and California, have some specifics that I've never really had to deal with. Stuff like: What color curb can who park next to and when? When parking uphill in a street with no curb, which direction do you turn your wheels? I had spent an hour earlier in the afternoon reading the Governator's book on Californian driving laws and safety, but wasn't quite sure if it would be enough. I got through the 36 questions (6 or less mistakes = passing grade for first-timers) quickly, but not quick enough for a do-over if I failed. A few tense moments followed as I watched yet another state employee comparing my answers to a preprinted answer sheet for test #6. The first ten she covered already yielded two red circles and my pulse went up. I really didn't want to fail, especially since I would have to wait another day to try again. Thankfully the next 26 were a perfect score and 15 minutes later I was skipping out of the DMV office with my permit to make an appointment for the behind the wheel test. This appointment now stands on the momentous day of February 5th, when the country finds out who will be the presidential candidates and I will find out if I will be getting that most important piece of all things American: A Drivers License!
-Making a gourmet dinner in the hotel, using paper plates, plastic forks, an old microwave and lots of imagination (including the gourmet part).
All of the above and I even left out: the Dutch windmill, the chipmunks, the Java shop, the view from the deck of the apartment we didn’t take, the bank which only lets you open an account with a check (after I explained I want a US account to be able to write checks, duh) and, let’s not forget, the <-CENSORED->
07:00 (8 jan, maar lokaal 22:00u op 7 jan) aangekomen in SFO international airport lijkt het tijd voor een jubel-stemming. Helaas veels te moe hiervoor en 3 kwartier kijken naar een bagage band waar jou koffer maar niet op wil duiken –bleek met eerdere vlucht gekomen te zijn en ‘stiekum’ achter een security hek geplaatst- helpt ook al niet.