I always thought there might be something romantic about being a fugitive. But as with many things in my life, I did not know I was actually something until after it occurred.
Scene One: The Watertown, MA Registry of Motor Vehicles
I enter the mall (by the way, who puts a RMV in the mall?) around 9:40 a.m. intending to update my license with my not-so-new last name. I read the hours on the website wrong and the RMV doesn't actually open until 10. The line is already out the door, and I end up behind a guy who is bitching non-stop about having to wait and how the RMV takes too long and blah, blah, blah, his tax dollars at work. Around this time, I realize that I forgot both my book and my magazine so I either have to go zen or actually engage with this idiot. I turn inward and start counting the ceiling tiles, and then playing with my Blackberry. I actually work and send a few emails. Twenty minutes pass, the gate goes up, and the line starts moving. Twenty five minutes later, and I'm handed my paperwork to fill out.
The place is ridiculously crowded and I pace the aisles hoping that somebody will give the pregnant lady a seat. Nobody makes eye contact. A seat opens up, and a teenage boy and I both lunge for it. He plops down, but his mother comes by, whacks him and makes him get up. I journal a little about the crazy in my head, get bored, and engage in a few rigorous rounds of Brickbreaker. My number, B235, gets called.
The kid processing me is a newbie. It's his first day of work, and he's making a lot of mistakes. He also doesn't quite get the difference between my original last name and my new pretentious, hyphenated last name. We go back and forth multiple times, but I finally hand over my Social Security Card and just tell him to copy it. I should be annoyed, but he's a sweet kid. I say I didn't want a new picture because of how "fat" I was now, and he goes out of his way to tell me how cute I am and how I don't look different at all from the neck up. He takes the card and my license and puts the license in a "to be destroyed" pile.
We're almost finished and the kid says, "Um, I'm sorry, but I can't update your MA license because of your, um,....'trouble' in NJ." I ask what trouble. He tells me the 'trouble' from May 2007. I tell him that I have lived in Mass since June 2006 and ask him to double check the social security number. He calls a supervisor. She checks and tells me that I have an outstanding conviction and possibly an outstanding warrant for my arrest in NJ. What for? They can't tell. They feel bad for me because I am horrendously pregnant and sweaty, so they say they'll call, but the number for the NJ DMV has a 45 minute wait. They apologize and tell me they can't wait that long, and that if I get it resolved, they'll be more than happy to process my license change.
I don't freak out. I just ask for my license back, so that I can drive home. "Um, well, in situations like this, we're actually supposed to keep your license." And, the kid adds, "I think I'm supposed to report you to the police." Again, I do not freak out. I tell them that my due date is Tuesday and that I'm probably not a flight risk and that I have never even gotten a speeding ticket in my life, and could they please help me out because I am about to have a baby and I need some photo ID for the hospital and need to be able to drive? They agree. When they turn around to find my license in "to be destroyed pile," they realize that the licenses have been moved, presumably to the place where they are to be destroyed. The kid runs into another room, and after several moments of more ceiling-tile counting and avoiding pitying stares from strangers, he comes back. "Got it!" He hands it over, and everyone tells me to have a good day and to come back when I have my 'trouble' taken care of. I am convinced that they're only being this nice to me because I am quite literally waddling.
Scene Two: Comfort Feeding
I go into the convenience store next door, buy a king size Hershey bar and a package of Parmesan goldfish, and eat them all in the 10 minute drive back home. YG is on a conference call and gives me the thumbs up. I motion BIG thumbs down.
Scene Three: Please Wait for The Next Available Representative
I call the NJ DMV. I'm on hold for 42 minutes. There is muzak interrupted every few minutes by a voice recording telling me that they are very sorry for the wait and I will be handled by the next available representative. This bothers me more than actually holding. Many loud sighs follow.
I get through to a woman that tells me that yes, I have a warrant out for my arrest in NJ because I never told my insurance company that I moved out of state (I just let the policy lapse when I got a new one up here) and I never turned in my old plates. She says that they sent me notifications 5 times, but they were returned to sender. I asked where they sent them. To my old NJ address, of course. She then tells me that I'll have to talk to the uninsured motorists division, but that I'll probably have to pay a fine of several hundred dollars to rectify this. She, is, to put it mildly, unfriendly. I am reminded that I sometimes DON'T miss home.
I wait on hold again for 25 minutes to talk to the uninsured motorists division. I have a conference call for work that I need to be on and try to figure out a way to explain what I'm doing instead. I send a short email. I wonder if my coworkers think that I am either prone to general unluckiness or just a big exaggerator. I put this latest story in the context of other ridiculous events that have kept me from work and think it's the latter. There was: The Time I Locked Myself Out of The House With Everything Inside, The Time I Had An Allergic Reaction to My Own Skin And Had to Spend A Week Slathered In A Vaseline-like Substance, The Time I Sprained My Chest Wall and Couldn't Get Out of Bed, and so on. I wonder how I still have a job.
I finally get through to a woman named Lisa Ann who is gruff, but tells me exactly what I need to do. I miss home. Basically, I have to fax in proof that I registered the car elsewhere prior to May 2007, along with current license and registration, to waive the fine and remove the warrant. I am a pack rack, so my registration from December 2006 is quickly located in the black hole of junk otherwise known as my glove compartment. I have 40 minutes before my rescheduled conference call to get up to the business center at Staples to print out my intention to destroy my NJ plates, make copies of the registration and fax it all to Lisa Ann.
Scene Four: Which of Dante's Layers Is This?
I waddle as quickly as I can, and am confronted by a line much like the DMV. It must be Senior Citizens' Day at Staples, because a number of Biblical-era aged folks are milling around waiting to make copies and scanning old photographs. Nobody knows how to use any of the "self-service" machines. My zen from earlier is starting to wane, and I roll my eyes and sigh. A lot. I feel bad, but can't help myself. I finally get access to a copier. Out of paper. I wait again. I wait for the one employee to print out the letter saved on my USB stick, but he has to help a man printing out fliers, and all shades of yellow paper are not sufficiently yellow enough. Finally, I am ready to fax. Another line. Busy signals. General annoyance.
Finally, it is over. I have five minutes to get home and get on the phone. I race out of there, and am turning the key in the ignition when I realize that I left my current license and registration on the copy machine. More waddling, and then finally I am home, and on the phone, trying to explain my lawless state.
Scene Five: Redemption
Lisa Ann calls an hour later to tell me that I am cleared and that everything will be dropped from my record. I thank her profusely. I sit and think of all the times that I could have been carted off to jail in the past two years -- all the times that I ran the red light on Fairchild, all the times I sped on the Parkway, all the times I parked illegally, all the times I forgot my EZPass and went through the lane anyway. I wonder how I managed to stay so hidden. I am a relatively easy person to find.
I finally get around to laughing about it. Then I remember that I still need to go back to the RMV.
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