Ruminations On A Desultory Phillipic...

So I'm off to the DMV to obtain my Florida drivers license. Made an appointment first, and therefore was ushered into the most hallowed of hallows, the back-room where the licenses are distributed to those who've not threatened to overthrow the government, or suffer some hideous disease or condition that would prohibit the operation of a motor vehicle.

All in all, it probably would have taken 15 minutes, and that's not a inordinate slice of one's day to protest losing, particularly when dealing with a government agency.

Aha, little did I know. There were 7 or 8 people ahead of me, and the line was moving along until a woman decided that she simply would not remove her do-rag in order to have her picture taken.

Now, I'm a man respectful of women and it was obvious that she felt her hair to be in such a fright that removing the offending rag would have been a fate worse than death, but this has the entire room in a simmering uproar, as the process has come to a grinding halt because there is only one camera working and she refuses to stand before it sans do-rag.

The woman says nope, I ain't showin ma hair, the workers tell her they cannot take her picture if she does not show her hair, and a standoff has been reached.

Until...until one of the workers emerges from their huddle and asks her if the wearing of said rag was a religious belief.

YES, she replies, it's mah religions belief.

They huddle again, and she is allowed to have her picture, the picture on her drivers license, taken with half of her head covered.

This perturbed the DMV folks so very much that the gentleman who was working on my license was befuddled to the point whereby he could not read my passport and was entering my birthdate as December 12, 2007.

To be honest, I wouldn't put up much of a fight if a year or two of my age stricken from the official record, but to tell the entire world that I had in fact not been born yet was something I felt needed correction. The gentleman agreed that it was incorrect and changed it. Changed it to December 12, 1997.

Not wishing to be forced to return to elementary school, I asked if he'd give it another try, and after due consultation and forthright diligence from the sage input obtained from his co-workers, the conclusion was reached that yes indeed, I was not born in the year of our lord 1997, and that they would correct this mistake to reflect the proper date.

They got my address wrong. They changed it. The eye test was a breeze. What should have taken 15 minutes had stretched into 35.

But after all was said and done, victory was mine, so chalk this up to living in Florida.