It's Official

I've lived over the Tillery garage for three months - well past the legal time limit for a local driver's licence and vehicle registration. So, yesterday, I took the 10AM Currituck ferry across the sound to begin my journey to Elizabeth City, the closest motor vehicle office.

I had, in fact, set out the day before on the same journey but realized, as the ferry left the dock, that I had brought no proof of anything (age, residence, insurance, etc.) I was so focused on the driver's exam, that I had brought only the NC Motor Vehicle Manual to study on the ride over.

Yesterday I was ready, or so I felt.

Friends had forewarned me that the DMV would get me one way or the other, so I set aside the entire day for the adventure. I am not a novice. This was to be my ninth driver's license in seven different states (NC and Mass. being repeats) and eighth vehicle registration. Most notably, over the past nine years I had become a battle scarred veteran of the antediluvian District of Columbia DMV. How tough could North Carolina be?!

I had no idea.

After driving off the ferry, I studied every traffic sign for the duration of the journey to Elizabeth City (regulation?, warning?, informational?) I flipped though my notes (25 feet from a curb, 15 feet from a fire hydrant).

My heart raced.

The first surprise? There was no DMV office at the given address.

How diabolical.

While blindly retracing my steps back through Elizabeth City, I noticed a door in a small strip mall that said "License Plate Office." I'd have missed it but for the large black and white sign on the adjacent storefront church ("Jesus? He's in the Book!")

The license plate office, run by a private contractor, was the size of a living room and housed four staff, stacks of plates, computers, printers, extra paper, a small fridge (safely behind he counter), a twisting line of 14 people, several stenciled signs announcing the presence of no bathrooms, and dozens of other faded hand stenciled signs announcing changes in every code imaginable over the past ten or so years. Unfortunately, I did not notice the one announcing that an NC driver's licence was now required to register a vehicle.

Twenty minutes later, I was so informed.

The diver's licence bureau is located six miles on the other side of town inside of the State Police office. When they called my number (28) the officer while pleasant, was insistent that my laminated Social Security card was not acceptable. I was in luck, however. There was a local Social Security office on yet another side of Elizabeth City. Talk about good fortune!

The Social Security office was the size of, well, a living room. There was one extremely patient staff member who gave diligent and thorough service to each of the nine people in front of me. She was remarkable. I'd have killed half of them. An hour later I emerged with a valid Social Security card - not part of my original mission, but a small sign of progress.

It was now 2PM.

The people at the driver's license office seemed happy to see me back. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, or perhaps there are some poor souls who never return from the trip to the Social Security office.

I was now getting nervous. The driver's test loomed.

I confidently presented my passport as my second form of ID. Had I been more diligent, I'd have noticed that my passport had expired in April and was, thereby, unacceptable. Fortunately I was deep in ID. Ironically, the notarized copy of my marriage license sufficed.

The final hoop prior to the test was proof of insurance. I proudly presented my insurance card with all of the required information. Unfortunately, it had Karen's name on it. An hour later, after several telephone calls and a fax from my agent, I was ready for the test.

Eyes? O.K.

Sign knowledge? Check.

Driver's exam? 22 out of 25. I passed with two to spare!

Back ground selection (lighthouse, airplane, bird), voter registration, organ donor, signature, photograph and...???

I am legally licensed to drive a class 3 motor vehicle in the state of North Carolina.

Armed with the license and renewed confidence, I headed back six miles to the Final Battleground. The line at the license plate office wasn't that bad - maybe nine people this time. I waited patiently, read some more signs (they apparently are not responsible if small children swing on the ropes that twist around the room to demark the line), and fooled around with the prior day's NY Times crossword.

After a time, I got to the front, gave them my license, gave them my insurance information, and even gave them my Social Security information - not because they asked for it, but because I could. There was one snag as the old title read J.P. Morgan Chase the leasing company wanted the new title to read Chase Auto Finance. Tab "A" did not go into slot "B". I was tired, starved, but rigid in my resolve.

It was 4PM. Victory was at hand. They made a few calls, sorted things out, pulled out a shiny new plate, showed me where to sign, and asked for $238.

$238!!??

There was a tax of which I had not been aware. I'd forgotten my check book and was way short on cash.

Would they take a credit card?

Laughs all around.

Where was the nearest ATM?

Shrug.

The rule was that, if you left the parking lot, you'd have to return to the end of the line.

I was erased from the computer, given back my paperwork, and exiled to search for an ATM. There aren't a lot of banks in Elizabeth City - a subject perhaps for a future blog. After a time I found one, my card worked, I returned four miles back to the license plate office, the line was manageable (7 people - 2 appeared to be together) and at 4:45, exited with my new plate. NC XPA4552. I waved goodbye as we all agreed to get together again in the Bahamas in 5 years.

I just made the 5:30 ferry back to Knotts Island. As it pulled out, I headed for the upper deck to watch a magnificent sunset and find a trash can that would be a worthy receptacle for my dog-eared North Carolina Motor Vehicle Manual.

Thank you for visiting,

Jack