Prod those sheep along…..


Yesterday I went to the DMV to officially change my license to reflect my new (and sunshiny!) status as an official Floridian – thinking I had outsmarted the system by actually making an appointment (why do people wait in line when there’s an option to reserve a time/appointment-when they clearly have access to the internet because grown men are standing in long line playing Angry Birds on their ipads…..ill never understand- but more so what ever happened to grown men reading the journal or watching Bloomberg? Is this what the dumbing down of America has led to? Alas…yet another blog).

So there i stood all excited for my appointment when the portly gentleman escorting me to reception asked to see my social security card.

He insisted that I would never get through the first set of requirements unless I had the correct name on my Social Security card (i hadn’t- it was my maiden name) and immediately tried to dismiss me (and my appointment!) by ordering me out the door to the Social Security office.

Having watched enough episodes of the Simpson’s with Selma and Patty to anticipate that the ladies at the DMV were trained by the US marine corps and would require more I.D. than the employees accessing the Pentagon, I came prepared with a backload of old mail with my correct name and address to prove without a doubt that I am in fact who I say I am. It wasn’t like I was trying to change my license to reflect a sexier image with a made up stage name such as “Demi” or even sexier such as “Bjork”…I simply did not have my married name on my original social security card (that i must say I impress myself that i still have after all these years-and about 108 moves around the world, which is probably the only proof that my maiden name even existed and may even be worth something on ebay?) but this corpulent law abiding man was having none of it.

He insisted that it would not go through the system and that I would just have to go to Social Security and stop wasting my own time. (Which I immediately interpreted meant HIS own time. You see, I speak the language of minimum wage).

Now, let me remind you for the 100th time….I live in Florida now. (Nope, I will never tire of saying that!)

There was NO WAY in hell that I would even consider stepping foot in the Social Security office -think about that for a minute and spare me the old people jokes….

so I did what any other woman with a little lip gloss would do….I gave my brightest Julia Robert’s ear to ear smile, heaved my less than ample bosom  out (which i think scared him a bit – he probably thought I was having a heart attack or gastro pains it was just so unnatural and awkward) and I declared in my prettiest voice which came out more of a whine:

“Let me just TRY it and see if it works.”

Followed with a smile, wink, grin.

He had no choice but to let the freak lady by as to put an end to the weird chest heaving – so I went to the next teller and lo and behold, it went through with my married name.

Lesson learned:

Sometimes you just gotta prod the sheep along and make up your own rules. I just wasn’t having it yesterday- not on Monday at the DMV.

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