Third Time is a Charm

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Do you know who invented that saying?

Someone who took THREE times to accomplish something that should have taken ONE attempt.

That someone could have been me.

But, it wasn’t because I’m pretty sure that that saying has been around for a while.  But, I identify with the saying on a deeper level today.

So, off I went on Monday to get my new driver’s license.  It’s a chore.  An errand.  Eli had gotten his done a few weeks ago, and it was my turn.  It’s a much more civilized task without my girls in tow, because, as the sign in the lobby says, “Wait times vary between 15 minutes and an hour and a half.”

Well, I embraced this on Monday.  I mean, what is a little wait time with no kids?  It’s practically a vacation!

I arrived and took a ticket and application form on a clip board to a chair.  The waiting room had all the chairs pointed to an unassuming wall.  There was a large television with the countdown to the ticket in your hand.  It’s like going to bingo.  A16, Station 2.  B45, Station 1.  A17, Station 4.

Under this large television was another television tuned into the Food Network.  Now, we don’t have cable in the house, so this was a novelty.  Did you know that is a television series about Cupcake Wars?  Seriously!  The drama!!

After some time, my letter-number combo appeared on the television, and I made my way to Station 1.

I had completed my application form in the waiting room in my best printing. 

Driver’s License from Nova Scotia?  “No problem.”   

Proof of residency?  “Why yes, I brought you two pieces of mail addressed to me.”

“What?”

“Seriously?”

“Only some mail is qualified for this task?  Personal mail does not count?  Oh.  See, I was operating under the understanding that Canada Post was a government organization, and the stamp and postmark made it… never mind.  So, what do I do with no bill or lease in my own name to my current address yet?“

“Alrigiiiiight…”

My husband has to write me a note.  For real. 

Very official.

“Yes, I think I will keep my application form for my next trip.  Thank you and have a nice day.”

Eli got a big kick out of having to write me a note.  It said, and I quote, “I, Eli, live at BLAH.  My wife, Mrs. Eli, lives here, too.  Signed, Mr. Grumpy.”

So, on Tuesday I went back.  I had Eli’s note, to excuse me for not having qualified mail and to say “I live here.”  I had copies of any documents regarding our possession of the house.  I even photocopied Eli’s driver’s license just in case. 

I arrived in the waiting room and took my letter-number.  I checked the big television, and the wait time looked reasonable.  Cupcake Wars was being advertised again, and there were chefs battling it out making meals out of nothing.  Nothing, I tell you!  You should have seen the suspense and drama!

My letter-number combination came up, and I went to Station 2.  “Hello, Ms. Station 2 Lady, I would like to have my driver’s license, please.” 

I joked lightly about my mail being second class the day before and gave her Eli’s letter and the house information.  She laughed about me copying Eli’s driver’s license.  Then she joked about seeing some ID.

I laughed, and said, “Of course.  Here’s my old driver’s license.”

She joked and asked to see my birth certificate or passport.

I laughed.

She stared.

My exact response was, “Seriously?”

A nod.

“You’re joking…”

A shake.

So, I gathered all my documents, and took my completed application form with me.  Again.  It was raining, and my application paper got wet, and I didn’t care.  I’m a rebel when scorned a second time.

I skipped Wednesday.   It was just too much.

So, this morning, I headed back out armed with my Nova Scotia driver’s license, my application form, copies of the house information, Eli’s letter saying I live here, too, my passport, my birth certificate and my marriage certificate, because I was not going back a fourth time because of my maiden name on the birth certificate.

I pulled up to the building, and someone whipped in, passed me on the inside, and took the parking spot on me!  I honked, and then parked behind her.  Nasty karma coming your way, lady.

I walked in and took my number.  Nasty karma parking lady whipped in ahead of me a got served first. 

I hope she locked herself out of her truck. 

It took a lot of self control not to be snarky at her.  But, if looks could kill, she’d have a sore ankle right now, let me tell you!  Or a wrist.  Maybe an obscure headache…

“No, I don’t need an application form.  I’ve been here before.  Twice.  For the same thing.”

The Cupcake Wars were on when I sat down today, and they mean business!  Who knew that cupcakes were so… combative?

My letter-number combo was called and I went to Station 3. 

Yes, I managed to meet all the service agents. 

She took all my documents. 

She took my money. 

She took my picture. 

And in the picture, I’m giving the camera a dirty look.

I should have asked her if I could just use this picture:

At least, I would have been smiling.

My plastic driver’s license will come in the mail in 2-3 weeks.  I wonder if that mail would have helped me on my first visit??  Would it have been qualified enough??