Permit

Basil woke me up.

“Aren’t you ready yet?” he asked.

Basil who hasn’t been out of his room except to go swimming, hang out with Lorena or sneak a meal or two, had a mission.  We made his appointment to get his permit right after he passed his written test and turned fifteen back in November, but the soonest the DMV, I mean DPS, had an opening was June 3 at 10:30.  In Texas we get our driving license at the Department of Public Safety, but growing up, we always went to the Department of Motor Vehicles.  I tend to switch up the acronyms.

We ran through Starbucks for breakfast and listened to a podcast called “Time: Bomb,” which was a couple minutes from ending as we pulled into the parking lot forty-five minutes early.  I convinced Basil to sit still till the end of the show since the email stated that we couldn’t check in till half an hour before the appointment.  As soon as the credits played, Basil opened the door and jumped out.  I was a couple of steps from the car with my purse and the manilla envelope with all the paperwork when I realized that I didn’t have my favorite mask.  They aren’t mandated any more, but wearing a mask in such a public place filled with humanity seemed like a good idea.  I opened Basil’s door and reached to the console where it’s kept.  I shut the door and pressed the lock button, but Basil had reached the sidewalk, and I didn’t check the door as usual.

“Wait up, Basil!  You know they probably won’t let us in.  We are still forty minutes early.”

“I need to get to a bathroom.  Let’s just try.”

Two people were ahead of us in the entrance.  When we walked up, the guard turned us away.

“You can’t come in the building until thirty minutes before your appointment.”

“Can my son use the bathroom?”

The guard looked at Basil and said, “Okay.”

Basil headed in but I left and sat on the concrete wall next to some bushes and soaked in the sun which was nice and not the merciless burning fireball it will once summer starts.  Basil came out with wet hair, bangs swept to the side.  Mission accomplished.  He sat with me for another few minutes and timed our next entrance so that when the guard consulted his watch it was 10:01, and he let us in.

We weren’t given a clipboard, but the manilla envelope served as a hard surface.  Almost every chair set six feet apart in the cavernous room was taken.  Most people wore masks.  We took two open seats far away from the monitors that displayed the numbers called.  I filled out the papers.  When I filled out the paperwork for Mom, she used to exaggerate her weight lower.  I was amused at the well-child check the week after the DMV appointment when I found out that Basil estimates his height and weight were a bit higher than his actual numbers.  Though at the rate he’s growing, there’s a good chance his guess will be right in six months when we come back.

We moved to the front of the room when the space opened up.  Basil played games on his phone.  I read a novel on mine and updated Facebook. Time ticked by.  We had A3060.  They called all the numbers through 59 and then started on the 70’s.  I knew that numbers at government offices were wonky, but a quarter after eleven thirty I went to one of the ladies who was near the entrance manning the table with the forms.

“I know to expect a long wait, but I’m worried that our number was called when I was doing paperwork.”

“When was your appointment?”

“10:30, but we checked in early.”

“They call the numbers out of order.  You don’t need to worry until an hour and a half after your appointment.  If it’s much longer than that then come back up.”

We returned to our seat and a worker soon appeared shouting to the captive audience that they called numbers out of order and everyone needed to be patient.  We weren’t the only ones asking.  It felt like having an appointment should mean more than a ticket into the building.  Some things, like the DMV waiting room experience, never change.

We were called up after a two hour wait.  The lady behind the desk was friendly.  She smiled at us and waved us to two seats.  I handed her my license and the manilla envelope which she dumped out and sorted.

“Where’s the VOE?” she asked.

Doh!!!  It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve waited with a child at the DMV only to be turned away for forgetting a piece of paper. I had two proofs of residency, Basil’s birth certificate and social security card, and the paper from the driving school showing that he had passed his written exam.  Basil is the third child going through this process.  Deep in the recesses of my memory I knew he would need a paper from the school verifying his status as a student.

The lady was so kind.  She asked if school was in session so that they could email the VOE to her.  It wasn’t in session.  I worked the cell phone.  The secretary didn’t answer.  The headmaster had left for lunch and told me the secretary was at the dentist.  I messaged her an SOS on facebook messenger. No response.  The nice lady told me everything else was in order and made us an appointment for the next day.  I dreaded another two hour wait but it felt deserved.  I should have known.

Basil and I walked out to the car, my head hung in discouragement.  My phone tinged.  It was the secretary.  She had gotten my message, read the facebook posts detailing the saga as it had unfolded and had her work laptop with her.  She could send the VOE right away!!!!  I texted her my jubilation. 

That’s when Basil and I noticed that his car door was wide open.  Nothing disturbed but the pack of children masks that was on hand in case we took the little ones into a store which had been taken.  I should have given them to the lady who had taken the adult masks on the seat the weekend before.

We locked up, check and rechecked and then raced back in.  The guard let us in with a  warning that the lady might not be willing to see us again.  We entered the labyrinth behind the soft wall separating the workers from the masses and followed the maze like mice searching for cheese.  It was elating to find the right hallway and draping photo background that served as a separation between us and the lady who was working with a father and son.  She motioned us to wait.  Yes!

When it was our turn again, everything went quickly.  We signed stuff and paid the fee.  Then over two hours after we arrived, Basil had his moment of truth.

The lady said, “Stand up, and I’ll take your picture.”

I looked over expecting his winning smile and saw a look of panic.  His water styled bangs were dry and lay flat on his forehead.  He combed them to the side with both his hands in a desperate digging motion and stood up.

The lady put her hand to mouth and stage whispered, “Is there something wrong with his neck?  Can he stand up straight?”

I looked back to where Basil stood with his head at a twenty degree angle the only thing he could do to keep his bangs from sliding back.

I said, “No.  It’s his hair!”

I smiled and laughed and turned to him and said, “Basil!  Stand up straight.”

I laughed again.

The lady laughed too.

Even Basil cracked his charming smile.

“Don’t worry about your hair,” I told him, “These pictures are notoriously bad.”

The lady assured him, “You’ll get a new picture when you get your license.”

Ignoring his hair, Basil smiled for the camera.

I raised my arms in a victorious taunt as we passed the other people waiting in chairs.  We came.  We saw.  We were almost defeated, but we rose victorious!  Three kids down.  Three to go.  Now to teach Basil how to drive.