I Never Knew if it was the DMV or BMV

The answer is: both.

Readers, I warn you: this post is not for the faint of heart. I consider myself a perpetual optimist, able to find the proverbial light at the end of all tunnels and await the bountiful harvest after seasons of rain. In the depths of despair, a simple smile from a stranger will renew my spirit. However, there are some adversaries so cruel, even I cannot find a glimmer of hope. The adversary of which I speak is the DMV, and as the acronym indicates, this story has no happy ending.

A week and a half ago, I was having an innocent glass of wine with friends. My pants had no pockets, so logically, I stored my credit card and license in my leggings. Yes, a purse or wallet may seem more reasonable, but each has proven itself an inefficient means to secure valuables in the past. Upon returning home, I discovered my license had vanished, and after further investigatory efforts proved fatal, I had to face reality. To restore my identity, I would have to venture to the Department of Motor Vehicles, the very shadow of death.

Really, I have no reason to begrudge the DMV. Other than failing my driver's test two times, my interactions with the department have been brief and pleasant. They may have tellers who ask me if Cinco de Mayo is always on the fifth of May, but as a whole, the atmosphere is bearable.

Still, whenever I enter the DMV, I have the perpetual fear that I will walk up to the information desk, present my records, and be informed that I am actually an alien, at which point I will be deported to my home country. Certainly an adventure, and as I waited forty minutes to approach the Charlottesville information desk, I determined that were I sent back, I would introduce peanut butter cups and earn instant fame.

While the woman did not send me on the first flight out of the US, she did tell me that since I am not a resident of Virginia, I need proof that I had a license. And so we reach our catch 22. I need a new license to replace a lost license, but without this lost license, I cannot get a new license to replace it. Further, even if I have the license number, expiration date, date of issue, license class, birth certificate, passport, social security card, pay stub, car insurance, and five pictures of various relatives in my wallet, their computer system does not possess the technology to find my license. I find it hard to believe that in this age of technology, a computer capable of beating THE Ken Jennings in Jeopardy can be developed, but the DMV lingers in a relative stone age.

On second thought, I do not doubt it, especially after this experience. I tried to reason with the teller, who was probably used to victims such as I pleading their cases, as to how it is possible for the cops to look up my driving record, but impossible for the DMV. She told me police officers need the license as well, which begs the question, if I get pulled over in a state without a license, should they not arrest me for fear I am illegally behind the wheel? She told me I would be ticketed for not having a license were this the case, but if I live in another state and the DMVs that have my record do not communicate or have access to computer systems, how can the state of Ohio know that I have a ticket in Virginia? If this were reality, I could accept the minor inconveniences of replacing licenses for the benefit of those who avoid paying out of state tickets. As it is, the states communicate, because this has happened, and I have had to pay. The preceding thought process may have been excessive, but if you managed to follow, I think you can understand my frustration.

The teller certainly did- either that or she wanted me to shut up- but her only comfort was that the government was working on it. Good to know.

She did offer me an alternative solution, which was to present a copy of the abstract. I was aware of this option after my trip to the DMV last weekend, and had my unofficial abstract printed. Incidentally, this also made me aware of the fact that I will lose my license should I be ticketed in the next three months. That aside, the documentation was obviously not sufficient, and although it came directly from the website of the Ohio BMV (another nuance, some states have DMVs, while others have BMVs), I would need a hard copy that went through an obligatory fourteen day waiting period in order to be labeled "official."

She suggested I have the abstract faxed, at which point my eyes glistened for the first time throughout this ordeal. I called the Chardon License Bureau with high hopes, only to be redirected to the Columbus License Bureau, the only office with the authority to fax such important documents. I called once, twice, three times, but the line was busy, and with every beep, my spirits sunk. After twenty minutes of failed attempts, my name was called, and on the verge of tears, I approached the front desk and told the woman she could do nothing for me, other than explain to me why an office does not have call waiting or two phone lines in 2011. I exited the building, dejected and downtrodden, expressing my just frustration in a manner which made the man beside me chuckle. If he only knew...

If nothing else, this is another example of government inefficiency at its finest; the license bureaus will always be necessary and will always have a monopoly in the market for driving permissions. Therefore, they will consider making the system more efficient, as my tax dollars go to paying some girl in Ohio to respond to an online request for a copy of my driving record while she facebook chats her boyfriend on the other screen. Various information throughout the state systems will indeed come together, but only when it is convenient for them. Perhaps the office will look into that new-fangled commodity called the "hold" button, but talking to more than one person on the phone seems a bit ridiculous.

Meanwhile, I refuse to go through the permit process in Virginia for fear that I will actually fail the driver's test. Instead, my heart will jump every time I see sirens, knowing that while this town has multiple miscreants and deviants, the cops will prey on the poor girl from the Midwest who simply misplaced her license. I will drive around with my passport, birth certificate, and car insurance, hoping that the next cop who pulls me over will believe I have a license when he looks at all the concert tickets I have stored where my license once resided.

While this story has no tangible positive outcome, I find solace in the hope that an underage blond hair, blue eyed girl stumbled upon the license and is gallivanting gaily about Charlottesville bars. I suppose I am an eternal optimist, after all.