Birthday Telegraph Road Report


Immediately following the successful completion of my 47th trip around the sun, every single license I held became totally expired. SO! I set off on the long journey to rectify these extinctions and once again join the world of legally driving vehicles both commercial and non, and the right to bear my flamethrowers, hand guns, battle-axes and mangonels in a very legal and concealed capacity. I started with the local Secretary of State Office. They have a new feature which allows you to set up your appointment early; you leave your number, they give you a time and send you updates via text. I arrive 3-4 minutes early, (yeah, maybe it should have been 10), and do not see my number on the TV monitor, despite the fact that I had just received a text telling me I was next. A hear a rather polite, "Can I help you ,Sir?" and look down to see a 5 foot tall, 5 foot wide young lady wearing a half acre of fabric sewn into a pristine security guard uniform with all of the patches and accouterments available to her position. I explained the situation and she directed me to the information window, where a grumpy but helpful woman checked my texts and her computer, handed me a couple of forms, told me to fill them out, then proceed to the line "between the ropes" which were set up to contain the next few people to be helped. I comply and am standing three people back when the security girl taps me on the shoulder and with the well practiced look of a veteran REAL police officer, convinced she just stopped a major felony-in-progress, demands "Were you told to get in this line??" I replied in the affirmative. Her eyes half closed she said, "Who told you?"

Great, I'm thinking, I've just been busted by a wanna-be female Paul Blart with a blonde freakin' ponytail at the DMV.

"Batman," I says. "Batman told me to fill out these forms and go "between the ropes. I'm assuming that these are the ropes?" I ask in a more innocent tone.

"I don't think you are supposed to be here." she says.

"Well, the lady you sent me to see sent me here."

She nods once, says "OK," and walks off.

I stand there for another ten minutes when I can feel the burning tingle of someone staring at me on the back of my neck. I look over and she is watching me through narrowed, suspicious eyes, arms crossed and standing like a short, round version of the Terminator.

Eyebrows raised, I pointed at the lady to whom she sent me, who was not Batman but who had sent me to the front and just said, "Look, she's right there, go ask her."

She said nothing, but after I completed my visit I wished her a good day on the way out. I swear she thought she was John Frickin' McClain. I half expected her to say, "Yippee Kai Ay Motherf**ker." as I went by, but she just growled a "Thank you." Now, I bet her job isn't real fun. She makes about $9.50 and hour and deals with pissed off people all day armed with nothing but a set of keys. But lord get over yourself! Asking the Info Window Lady could have cleared all of that up. No major detective needed.


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