The Southern Yankee: A Writer's Log

 

Seventy-four years young, in Argentina, I now have to renew my driver’s license yearly. I won’t tell you how many years young my wife Virginia is, but we both end up in the same line at the DMV every year.

Getting your license renewed in Argentina is nothing like getting it renewed in my native US, where, in a lot of states, you can even do it by mail, and where always-on-the-road seniors would consider it age discrimination if they were asked to jump through any more hoops than the average middle-aged driver.

Well, here in Patagonia, as I say, renewal for us older drivers is yearly. And the prerequisites are numerous. First, the car you’re driving to the DMV has to have passed inspection at the Technical Verification Center. The computers there always end up turning up something or other: a poorly regulated handbrake, loose muffler, a millimeter too little tread on a tire, a faulty bushing in the front-end suspension, a stone-pit in the windshield, a less than enthusiastic turn signal…something. And until you go to a mechanic, get the nitpicking thing fixed and go back for re-verification, you can’t renew your license.

Once that’s done, you go to the DMV. There, they very amiably ask you a lot of probing questions about your age and retirement status. Then they take a picture of you, ask if it looks okay to you (let´s face it, at this age, any picture is simply as good as it gets), then they send you to another office where they give you an appointment for a few days or a week hence to take the driving test.

In the meantime, you get sent out on other missions. First, you have to go to a service payments center and pay the license fee. The cashier there also checks to see if you owe any tickets for infractions anywhere else in the country, and if so, you have to pay them before you can renew your license. You have to then take proof of that license fee back to the DMV.From there, you have to go to the offices of the local municipal traffic court. There, they scour computer records to see if you have any outstanding infractions, and again, if you do, you have to pay them. Without the traffic court certificate showing that you’re infraction-free, you can’t renew your license.

That done, you have to go to one of two medical services, tell them you’re renewing your license, and hand them the corresponding form from the DMV. You’ll be asked to wait and then will be called one at a time into a series of consulting rooms, where you’ll need to pass an eye test, a hearing test, a clinical test and a psychological test. If you don’t pass any or all of them, you can’t renew your license. 

Now, after a morning of doing all these things leading up to the medical exam, I don't know how I got out of my psych test without a straitjacket yesterday.  I had been messing around with the mechanic and technical verification for three days when we started the actual DMV process. I told Virginia after we finished with our traffic court adventure that I didn't really  want to do the medical yesterday, since it was already 11:30am and I was pretty sure the medical service closed sometime around noon.

But she insisted. We live more than twelve miles from town, and she figured that, as long as we were in town, we might as well get it all over with in one day, so all we would have pending was the driver’s test.  I had bank business to take care of before the banks closed at one, so I wasn’t very convinced, since I had to go someplace else and collect some money before going to the bank.  

Virginia, meanwhile, went on ahead to the medical service office alone. She called me while I was collecting the money for the bank, and said there were few people at the service, and that she'd already taken a turn for me so I should hurry up. It was after twelve, and, as I say, the bank would be closing at one. I said I had to get to the bank and deposit the cash. She said the medical place would close at 12:45, and I should get over there right away.

Irritated and nervous, I rushed to the medical office. I got there sweating and out of breath and prayed they wouldn't do the clinical first because I figured my blood pressure  would be through the roof. Virginia was in one of the rooms doing one of the exams. As soon as I sat down, the psychologist stepped out of her room and called my name. I was thinking money, bank, closing time, etc. when she said, “Do you have the form?”

“Form, what form?” I thought, and figured it must be something they had given Virginia at the reception desk. “Sorry, doctor,” I said. “My wife got here before me, and she must have it.”

“Who's your wife?”

“Virginia Mel.”

“Stay here, I'll go find her,” and off the psychologist  went.

All of the sudden, Virginia bursts into the room and says, “It's this form!” holding  a paper in front of my face. “The one they gave you at the DMV!” I apologize profusely to the shrink, explain that I'd been confused as to which form they were talking about, while Virginia goes back to the consulting room she'd come from. I say, “I've been running around town taking care of all sorts of nitpicking things all morning and am a little on edge, sorry.”

The psychologist says not to worry about it, just to relax, but I’m so irritated by now that I’ve been buffaloed into doing this today that my hands are shaking. The woman says, “Okay, let's begin. I'm going to give you three words, and I want you to memorize them. I'll ask you to repeat them later. Ball, flag, tree.” I nod. “Repeat them please.

“Ball, flag, tree.”

“Good. All right. What day is it?” Suddenly, I panic, “What the hell day is it??? Think, Dan, think!”

“Wednesday?” I venture. “Yes, I think it's Wednesday.”

“And the date?”

“October...October...hm...30th? No wait, October 31st.”

She nods, says, “Right date, but it's Thursday.”

“Oh okay. Sorry, it's been a busy confusing week.”

She nods dryly, with a deadpan expression, and says, “What are the three words?

Shit! What are the three freakin’ words? Wait, Dan, calm down. Think!

I say, “Ball, flag, and....ball, flag, and, um...”

“All right,” she says, “write a sentence. Any sentence that comes to mind.”

So what do I write? Hoy es miércoles. (Today is Wednesday)! And even as I'm handing it to her, I'm thinking, “No, you imbecile! It's freakin’ JUEVES (Thursday).”

Then, suddenly,  I shout, “Tree!”

“What?”

“The other word, ball, flag, TREE!”

“Oh right, muy bien. Okay now, see these geometrical figures.” I nod. “I want you to draw them freehand as exactly as you can.”

Now, I've never had any clerical ability. Maybe something to do with my more or less secret dyslexia. But it's the part of intelligence tests where I always end up looking like a moron. So, now I start laboriously sketching the two interlocked figures, and the more I mess with them, the worse they get. When I’m finished it looks like the work of a mentally challenged kindergartner.

She looks at it, hesitates, looks at me,  then looks down again and writes something on the form. Then, she looks up again and says, “What were the three words.”

“Tree...flag...um...(BALL, you freakin’ idiot, BALL!), ball.”

She nods. stamps and initials the form and hands it back to me. When I get outside, I’m relieved to see it says “APTO” (Approved). Virginia is relieved as well. “Wow,” she says, “the shrink looked worried when you sent her to find me.”

Nothing to worry about,” I lie. “I passed with flying colors.”