Friday, September 02, 2005
After living out-of-town for a year and a half, I finally got a new license. My NY license expires on my birthday this year, so I had to get moving on it. Anyway, the license office was soooo slow, I think the "M" in DMV stands for "molasses." Yaakov and I (and Srulik and Rivky) went together. We had an appointment at noon, and got out at 2. First of all, Srulik and Rivky were their normal, high-energy selves, they ran around and entertained themselves all over the place. One particular employee kept hassling us to "watch our children. " We were watching them...go nutty in the DMV office. They weren't being unsafe, they were just bored and trying to amuse themselves. I met a nice Jewish lady in front of me on line, and asked her to join us for a shabbos meal. When my turn finally arrived, I had to turn in my NY license. That made me cry. It was a tangible connection to my little Brooklyn ghetto, with the address of my landlord's house on it. They are a very fine chassidisher family, and I miss them greatly. We lived upstairs. I would always find an excuse to go visit them, to borrow an egg or ask a sha'aleh. We lived there for 5 years. I was very sad to leave, sad to turn in my license that somehow connected me to them. The good news is that Yaakov was making corny jokes while I was getting my picture taken, so I have a smiling/laughing license photo. Irma Bombeck once said that "hell is where people actually look like their driver's licenses," so at least I'll look cute in hell.