When last we met, I was en route to the Asheville DMV, my psyche and GI tract in an uproar for fear that I would forget an important document or fail the sign test, then be forced to wait for months for another appointment, hoping all the while that the PO-leece wouldn’t pull me over for my expired tags.
Mark Twain said, “I’ve had a lot of worries in my life, most of which never happened.” Although a lot of scary things I didn’t think to worry about did happen, Mr. Twain’s sentiment does apply to my DMV visit. In fact, the experience was far more Twain-esque than the Sartre-esque scenarios I’ve had in other cities. I was called to Cubicle 133 promptly at 8 a.m., where an upbeat young bespectacled single mom — she had a photo of her mini-me, in matching spectacles, thumb-tacked to her cubicle wall — nodded excitedly when I got to the last sign in the sign test, and asked:
“Is that the railroad thing?”
“Yes!” she said, and then, lowering her voice to a hushed, confidential tone, she continued, “most people don’t get the last three signs, and we have to tell them to go study for 15 minutes and come back.”
I felt a jolt of superiority, along with gratitude that things were going so well. Until she told me I would have to go to ANOTHER DMV office, down the road, for my license plate and tags. This other place was walk-in only, so I hurried out the door with my temporary license tucked inside my wallet.
I got to the second location a half hour before it opened and texted a photo of my new license to my homies. In true Asheville vortex fashion, my cousin Sandy just happened to be at the Ingles supermarket a few doors down, so she kept me company inside my car while I waited because it was pouring rain.
Sandy and me, celebrating the fact that I am no longer, as she says, an “illegal alien” in North Carolina
The second DMV lady was also very friendly and welcoming, which took some of the sting off the news that North Carolina was charging me $567 for the privilege of living and driving here. I also had to pay her a $7 cash notary fee, but the ATM inside the DMV was broken, so I raced out to Sandy’s car just as she was driving away and borrowed seven bucks. Then I ran back into the DMV to give the notary lady the money and she handed me my plate, which The Boyfriend later affixed to the back of my car because he’s way handier than I am.
A few days ago, I read a meme about gratitude suggesting that changing one’s teeth-gnashing “I have to” to “I get to” will also shift one’s perspective. So I’ve been trying it out. When I caught myself grousing, “why did I have to pay the DMV $567 to register my car?” I changed it to “For $567, I get to live in a place I love, with a life that I love,” and I did feel better.
However, when it was 18 degrees a few days ago and a howling wind blew the top of the cat litter box clear over the deck, down below behind an electric fence, and I had to race out to Pet Smart between sessions and buy a new one, it was harder to put a sunny spin on that, although I suppose I am grateful that there is a pet store near by.
The litter box lid that met an untimely death
I guess the moral of this story is that worrying and half-full-glassing it don’t solve anything, and being grateful does actually fix a bad attitude. If you get to breathe, and you get to eat food out of your very own refrigerator, and you get people in your life whom you love and who love you back, and especially if you get tags on your car that are not expired, well, then…you get a lot.
As Mick droned "You can't always "get" what you want, but sometimes you "get" just what you need..."
Just like "Buck" in "Call of the Wild" who grows and changes his outlook throughout the novel.
Keep Howling...The Adventure continues...
Glad you were successful in your DMV adventure! That does seem like a lot to pay but I haven't had to deal with plates in 22 years, so it's probably about average, and as you said you've moved to a much better place for your health and happiness, so undoubtedly worth it. xx