A Nice Day (and Where to Have It)

In Review: Vermont DMV
Rating: Faith-in-humanity-restoring

I was in Costa Rica with my family a couple of weeks ago, and maybe that should be its own review, but all I'll say here is that we got expertly alleviated of many of our possessions; among them, some drivers' licenses. This meant very different things for some of us.

For my mom, it meant going to the DMV in New Jersey, getting yelled at for presenting a credit card as one of her six points of identification, having to go home and get a debit card, coming back and presenting the debit card and an insurance card and her passport, getting to the photo booth and suddenly being told that since she has a middle initial on her license but not on her passport, she needs to go find the original copy of her naturalization certificate. That is: go back home, root through the safe, find that the certificate is not there after all, ask father-in-law to go with her to open his safe at the bank, see some direct evidence of the near-delusional scale of his lifelong preparation for the zombie apocalypse (which for some reason necessitated putting empty plastic bags in the safe - "to prevent shifting"), finally find the certificate, go back to the DMV, and no less than a full workday later, come out with a grumpy picture (because they told her not to smile).

For us, it meant a trip to a Vermont DMV, which is a little different. We went up to Montpelier with our dogs (because there are some nice hiking trails right next to the municipal building). When we got inside, we were nearly the only ones there. Asa took a number and a form to fill out. The only proof of anything he brought was a single piece of mail. No picture ID is necessary here since they already have the license photo on file. Meanwhile, a very elderly gentleman hobbled over to the counter, relying heavily upon a rolling walker with a basket in the front. He asked to speak to Caroline. Caroline was busy, but he said he'd wait. A few seconds later, Caroline turned out to be available after all, but she clearly didn't recognize the guy. "You helped me get my disability placard," he told her, and some possibly artificial recognition crossed her face. "So I wanted to give you this." And he pulled out a wrapped gift from his basket, which turned out to be a cutting board that he custom made for her. She thanked him profusely and told him he didn't need to come all the way out here for that. He told her that she went out of her way to help him get his placard, so it was the least he could do. Asa's number was called before the exchange was even finished; by the time the old man was out the door (which someone held open for him, of course), Asa had his new license in his hand. And in the photo, he was smiling widely.