28 October 4706 - Restriction 6

Hey everyone, check this ou...
Wait, that's not terribly accurate as an announcement right now. Let me revise this.

Hey Gitta, check this out:
Obverse
Reverse

I have waged glorious combat with the Virginia Department of Motor Vehicles, and that was my prize. Now if I can just find a set of wheels, I'll have finally earned my wings back after so many years.
Of course, there's plenty yet to be overcome before that happens. Credit, for instance. As it turns out I never had any because I had never had a credit card. Funny thing that. Oh, also the mere fact that I have student loans would mean that generally speaking, I'd be sol for signing up for a beneficial credit card if not for the magnanimity of my bank (or that was the bank agent's story anyway).

The combat? The line to get in line at the DMV was one hour long, and reached through 40 or more patrons and out the door into the mall proper, next to the JcPenny. That was the easy part. I waited and eventually reached a clerk named Mohammad, to whom I told my intentions and who gave me a number and a simple (single, hah!) form to fill out. I took the number (C288), and filled out the form and waited, passively people-watching and avoiding the temptation to reach for my DS and start in at Grimoire of the Rift yet again. After a wait whose time I did not measure, the disembodied voice called my number and I approached window 4 where Helen Clift assisted me with my form and general activity. I presented my identification: proof of ID, proof of legal presence, proof of social security, and proof of residence...

"This is no good."
"This is a copy of my lease, why is that no good?"
"See here on the back, it isn't signed. I need the original."
"I'm not allowed to have the original, and this is a copy I was given. Could I get a photocopy of the original and use that?"
"No, it must be the original lease. Go away now."
"Fine."

I left. I reviewed the sheet I had about what counted as identifying documents, and discovered that I could use the power bill. Kurt picked me up, we went to the house, and I rallied and found the power bill, and returned.
Now, two hours later in the day, I entered and found...no line. Mohammad was gone, and I spun the same tale for the woman who replaced him. I took the form, filled it out again, and sat with my new number (C325), and waited.
This time, I was more ready than J. Day, the clerk now tasked with my case. He took my ID (all four pieces, sheesh) and form in hand and started wandering around lost, looking for someone who actually knew what the hell was going on. In the end, none of them could fathom that I wanted to have a licence restricted to the operation of a motorcycle, but at least one of them knew what was to be done about it. At each phase my personage and paperwork were met with blank stares, curious glances, and the occasional utterance of "are you serious?"

And I admitted to each in turn that I was weird, and that, yes, this is what I wanted.

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