I recently misplaced my driver’s license. Not cool.
Leading up to that, I’d stood and stared for a disconcertingly long amount of time trying to decide if I needed to call the phone number listed on the whiteboard on the other side of the glass at a vehicle license center.
A couple people accepted my offer to go ahead of me — cheerfully pulling open the glass door and getting in line. It was lunch hour. They were busy. I thought I’d come back later.
The outgoing message at the number listed was a little too brief and cryptic for my somewhat flustered frame of mind — I called it as was I leaving the building. All the better for a local merchant as I wielded my credit card for an impulse buy at a spacious boutique in a corner building I’ve often admired. (I’d once gotten a picture framed there and some of our favorite Christmas ornaments were purchased right next door.)
When I came back later I got out the paperwork I’d already dutifully done online as instructed on my renewal notice, along with a check blank and my license, and had them ready on the counter. But I was told I did need to make an appointment. I scribbled my name in the book for the middle of the next week.
As I was firing up the air conditioner I thought I heard something fall between the car seat and console but it didn’t occur to me then that it might be my license. A couple hours later when I was getting my credit card out to buy some protective spray for my new sandals (not the boutique purchase, yet another extravagance …) I realized the white card with the little picture of my face on it wasn’t where I usually keep it. Mayhem ensued.
It was hot in the parking lot so I didn’t do as thorough a job of excavating around the car seat as I might have and I thought maybe it was still at the license center, but of course I didn’t have time to get there before they closed and the irony of potentially getting stopped for speeding because I was trying to track down my driver’s license wasn’t lost on me.
It had yet to turn up; a new one was ordered. (Early in the morning a couple days prior to my appointment. Nice.) The photo was fine on the first try and the longish signature seemed to fit in the allotted space well enough. Progress.
As for names on blanks, what did surface recently was my old Bible. The one where the church elder got my name wrong — presuming a different nickname other than the one originally intended for me and inking it in on the line in the front of the book. I recall finding that disconcerting at the time and perhaps got me flustered subsequently, yet — as they say about “by any other name” — it did not make my overall faithful endeavors less sweet.
And what’s more! Precisely as I was hovering my phone over this little makeshift vignette my screen blurred out from an incoming call. I let it go to voicemail. Yup, they’d just found my card right there at the Cannon Falls City Hall. License to keep the faith.