Freedom... Or Something Close to It

On Monday, I went to get my leaner's permit, which lets me drive a car with a driver who's 21 or older. I was a little apprehensive about the test, but how much can one prepare for a written test on rules of the road?

My father and I walked inside the testing facility, blinking because the sun outside had been so bright. It took my eyes a moment to adjust before I saw all the people. Babies crying, children ran freely, people talking loudly to each other. Man, this was going to be the longest wait of my life. The woman sitting at the receptionist desk said brusquely, "Can I help you?"

I nervously told her that I was here to take the test for my permit. She handed me a slip of paper with the number 34 on it. The neon sign above her head read that they were serving number 11. Ugh...

We both sat down next to a greasy-haired man and a black girl who was about my age. I sat for a good hour reading my new book before becoming bored. To pass the time, I listened to the conversations of the people around me. I call it "people watching". It's a lot of fun. The two men in front of me were discussing the prison system because they had both been in it.

"Yeah, I been to Stringtown and Okie City and a whole lotta other places. How 'bout you?"

The second man laughed and said that he had also been in Springtown. They began to swap prison stories. I gulped.

Two hours later, we were still waiting. I wasn't as nervous. A Hispanic man had brought his translator to speak with the receptionist. The receptionist asked him if he had a birth certificate. No. Did he have a passport? No. Did he posess a green card? Yes. He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it proudly to the woman. She studied it for a moment. A social security card? Yes. He gave her it too. She held the two up next to each other and turned towards the translator.

"You need to tell him that these two cards don't have the same name. They have to be the same."

The translator smiled slightly and gestured towards the man. "It is the same man. Same man, two names." She shrugged her shoulders as if to say that this wasn't her problem.

Needless to say, they were sent away without a driver's license.

Lastly, a man walked in with multiple piercings. He looked angry and I was worried that he might just hit somebody any minute. He walked by me and I noticed a tattoo on his right calf. I whispered to my dad, "He's gay." My father had also been watching him.

"How do you know that?" he asked, accusatorily.

I pointed out that the tattoo on his leg was of two naked men groping each other. Underneath their... um... private parts, were the words: sexy mother f******. I blinked four times before looking away. Meanwhile, the man had noticed me staring and glared fiercely. Although, with a tattoo like that, he should expect to get some stares.

After a four hour wait, I was called to the back where I took the test. Easy peazy. Never felt more confident about a test in my life. We drove to the tag agency, where we discovered that my name was misspelled. We had to go back there. AHHHH!!!! This was turning into a nightmare.

We eventually fixed the problem and I drove home, going 10 miles below the speed limit at all times. 45 miles per hour is just way too fast for me. I have my permit. I have a little freedom. Don't burst my bubble. I know that I have to have a driver who's 21 years or older in the seat next to me. But, I'm not going to worry about that. I'm going to enjoy my little taste of freedom for as long as I can.