To be or not to be: 2

I should be writing about the excellent Shakespeare Night we attended yesterday at school, but it’ll have to wait because at the moment I’m too preoccupied with the drama (rapidly turning into a mini-series) of US bureaucracy…

So this morning I’m back at the DMV with my six points of ID and my letter of Social Security number ineligibility.

The lady on the desk looks at the letter. She shakes her head, ‘Nope, you need an SSN card.’

My inner voice says, ‘This isn’t happening! This is not what you said yesterday! You've already made me have my passport analysed by a bona fide supermarket assistant - WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME???’

My actual voice said, ‘Honestly, I think this is OK. Look I’ve brought my own bodyweight in ID…’ (I empty out my handbag on the counter).

She seems to be relenting on the SSN thing. She looks at my passport and studies the immigration stamp. ‘So, when did you arrive in the US?’

‘August.’

‘Says here you came in on July 16th.’

‘I know. It’s strange. I don’t know why they stamped it with that.’

‘Hmm. And when are you leaving? There should be a document to say when you have to leave.’

‘Should there? I don’t know. They didn’t give me one of those…’

My inner voice has stopped talking and turned into a silent scream.

But the desk lady has got bored with me. She waves me into the next line.

So now I’m standing behind a lady aged 102. I assume she is here for a non-driver ID card rather than a driver license. She hands over her birth certificate, which is inscribed on papyrus. Uh-oh! The man on the desk says, ‘It says here your name is Mary and you just told me you’re called Maria. I have to go check with my supervisor.’

Oh, jeez. We wait until Mary/Maria has turned 103. Then the man comes back and without further explanation says ‘You’re all set!’

My turn. The guy double-checks all my ID. I have my photo taken. They manage to angle the camera so that I look like a psychopath – or maybe that’s just how I’m looking by now. I’m given a ticket with a number.

Things then speed up considerably. I’m called to the test room. The guy there checks my ID again, in case I’ve swapped places with someone whilst crossing the office. The test takes 90 seconds. Luckily they miss out that tricky ‘Which side of the road are you meant to drive on?’ question, and I get 20 out of 20 (so did the Man, he’ll be wanting you to know).

At the kids’ school they get told ‘Good jaaaab!! You’re AWESOME!’ if they manage to spell their names right, so I was disappointed when the guy didn't give me so much as a grunt of approval. Instead he charged me $55 and sent me on my way.

Of course, this is just the start of the process. The five-hour driving theory lesson and the road test are yet to come.

Honestly, it was so much easier getting a missionary visa (long story) in Burma. You turned up at the office with a brown envelope stuffed with money paper-clipped to your application - job done! I’m thinking there’s something to be said for good old-fashioned bribery and corruption.