Ok, I'm officially an intern now...again. Keep those transfers to a minimum, Outside Hospital!
Daily goings-on: June 2008 Archives
One of the first orders of business one needs to take care of when moving to California is to get a California driver's license and California plates. I had reserved a full day for this endeavor, anticipating that it would take at least the entire morning to achieve complete Californization of my vehicle and of all my vehicular activities. If I were to fail within that time span, surely I would succeed by mid to late afternoon. In preparation, I had scoured boxes upon unpacked boxes in my apartment, gathering every document that I felt had even the slightest chance of proving remotely relevant to my quest.
Brimming with confidence, I boldly rolled my file cabinet's worth of documentation up to the reception desk. I was about to feed the bureaucratic process a can of whoopass. Fists on hips and face to the sky, my hair blowing wildly, I summoned my deepest, most heroic sounding voice and announced, "I am here to obtain a California license and registration." With a bored expression, the clerk reached up and turned off the fan which had just kicked on unexpectedly. My hair was no longer blowing, but I still felt pretty heroic.
"Do you have your birth certificate?" Though delivered by an actual white-haired lady behind the counter, the words could have just as easily been delivered by an automated phone menu. "I've got it right here!" I jerked open the top file drawer, yanked out a manila folder and, with a toothy smile, I casually tossed it on the desk before her.
"Passport?"
"Never leave home without it," I patted my breast pocket.
"Proof of insurance?"
"I'm in good hands!" I pulled an Allstate insurance card out of my wallet.
Now, I could see the wheels turning. Apparently considering me a worthy opponent, the clerk's lips curled into a smile. "Do you have your original car title, the car's current mileage, original mileage at time of purchase, date of original purchase, amount paid at time of original purchase, notarized proof of sale, amount paid in taxes at the time of original purchase and a listing of government programs those tax dollars went towards sponsoring?" I pulled out the requisite documents and sorted them neatly in front of her. Feigning indifference, she pressed on. "What is your gender?"
"Male."
"Race?"
"White."
"Ever been convicted of a felony?"
"No."
"When's the last time you donated blood?"
"May 12, 2002."
"Favorite color?"
"Purple." She almost caught me with this one; I had almost said, 'black.' But, I got it at the last second.
"Alright," she now began typing - or pretending to type, I couldn't be sure - some of this information into her computer. "I'll just need a copy of your previous, out of state license, a record of your most recent grade point average, and proof of what you ate for breakfast this morning." I calmly laid out my Illinois license, a copy of my medical school transcript and a half-eaten doughnut.
A feeling of pride began to well up inside me. The end was in sight! All that remained would be a battery physical and mental challenges most likely including an eye test, written test, driving test, photograph, vehicle inspection, the feat of strength, some signatures and fees - a long, drawn out hassle to be sure, but a clear path to victory! But the clerk would have one final trick up her sleeve - something I had not anticipated. Her eyes narrowed, her steely expression unwavering. Has your car been smogged?"
I gulped. "Smogged?" I repeated dumbly, trying to imagine what the verb 'to smog' might refer to and hoping desperately that it was something that I had done at some point.
Smelling blood, she pressed on. "Yes, smogged. How do you expect me to certify your CS-39 authorization unless your car has been smogged."
I was now a helpless rabbit, dangling in her vice-like grip and I saw no signal to indicate that she had any intention of relenting. My confidence utterly deflated, I had only one play left to make. "Has my vehicle been smogged...um, I had the emissions tested in Illinois?"
This was all she needed The day was hers. "Oh, I'm sorry," a rivulet of sarcasm dripped from her mouth, leaving a small puddle on the floor. "You'll have to have your vehicle smogged in California before we can give you a California registration. Please come back when you've gotten that taken care of. NEXT!"
Defeated, I began to put away the mountain of paper that had accumulated. I hung my head and trudged for the exit, pushing my filing cabinet in front of me like a homeless person with their shopping cart.
Well played, California DMV. This round goes to you.
Brimming with confidence, I boldly rolled my file cabinet's worth of documentation up to the reception desk. I was about to feed the bureaucratic process a can of whoopass. Fists on hips and face to the sky, my hair blowing wildly, I summoned my deepest, most heroic sounding voice and announced, "I am here to obtain a California license and registration." With a bored expression, the clerk reached up and turned off the fan which had just kicked on unexpectedly. My hair was no longer blowing, but I still felt pretty heroic.
"Do you have your birth certificate?" Though delivered by an actual white-haired lady behind the counter, the words could have just as easily been delivered by an automated phone menu. "I've got it right here!" I jerked open the top file drawer, yanked out a manila folder and, with a toothy smile, I casually tossed it on the desk before her.
"Passport?"
"Never leave home without it," I patted my breast pocket.
"Proof of insurance?"
"I'm in good hands!" I pulled an Allstate insurance card out of my wallet.
Now, I could see the wheels turning. Apparently considering me a worthy opponent, the clerk's lips curled into a smile. "Do you have your original car title, the car's current mileage, original mileage at time of purchase, date of original purchase, amount paid at time of original purchase, notarized proof of sale, amount paid in taxes at the time of original purchase and a listing of government programs those tax dollars went towards sponsoring?" I pulled out the requisite documents and sorted them neatly in front of her. Feigning indifference, she pressed on. "What is your gender?"
"Male."
"Race?"
"White."
"Ever been convicted of a felony?"
"No."
"When's the last time you donated blood?"
"May 12, 2002."
"Favorite color?"
"Purple." She almost caught me with this one; I had almost said, 'black.' But, I got it at the last second.
"Alright," she now began typing - or pretending to type, I couldn't be sure - some of this information into her computer. "I'll just need a copy of your previous, out of state license, a record of your most recent grade point average, and proof of what you ate for breakfast this morning." I calmly laid out my Illinois license, a copy of my medical school transcript and a half-eaten doughnut.
A feeling of pride began to well up inside me. The end was in sight! All that remained would be a battery physical and mental challenges most likely including an eye test, written test, driving test, photograph, vehicle inspection, the feat of strength, some signatures and fees - a long, drawn out hassle to be sure, but a clear path to victory! But the clerk would have one final trick up her sleeve - something I had not anticipated. Her eyes narrowed, her steely expression unwavering. Has your car been smogged?"
I gulped. "Smogged?" I repeated dumbly, trying to imagine what the verb 'to smog' might refer to and hoping desperately that it was something that I had done at some point.
Smelling blood, she pressed on. "Yes, smogged. How do you expect me to certify your CS-39 authorization unless your car has been smogged."
I was now a helpless rabbit, dangling in her vice-like grip and I saw no signal to indicate that she had any intention of relenting. My confidence utterly deflated, I had only one play left to make. "Has my vehicle been smogged...um, I had the emissions tested in Illinois?"
This was all she needed The day was hers. "Oh, I'm sorry," a rivulet of sarcasm dripped from her mouth, leaving a small puddle on the floor. "You'll have to have your vehicle smogged in California before we can give you a California registration. Please come back when you've gotten that taken care of. NEXT!"
Defeated, I began to put away the mountain of paper that had accumulated. I hung my head and trudged for the exit, pushing my filing cabinet in front of me like a homeless person with their shopping cart.
Well played, California DMV. This round goes to you.
The sum total of all my worldly possessions are now either a) in my car, b) are my car, c) in the custody of the U.S. postal service, or d) on my person. Tomorrow morning, my father and I are taking the mother of all road trips - Chicago to Sacramento in 4 days! To prepare, I have assembled the following listening material for the many hours of driving:
- Barack Obama, The Audacity of Hope
- Steve Martin, Pure Drivel
- The Twilight Zone, Selected Radio Dramas
- David Sedaris, When You are Engulfed in Flames
- Arianna Huffington, Right is Wrong
And, if any time remains, I have some audio books borrowed from my parents including:
- Thomas Cathcart & Daniel Klein, Aristotle and an Aardvark go to Washington
- Great Classic Stories by authors including:
- Oscar Wilde
- Edgar Allen Poe
- Guy de Maupassant
- F. Scott Fitzgerald
- C.S. Lewis The Screwtape Letters
- Monty Python's Flying Circus, Greatest Hits
I should be back to blogging around the middle of next week.
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