The Hancock-Henderson Quill, Inc.



Beyond The Picket Fence

by Sherryanne De La Bois

The puppy may be relating the minivan to pain and suffering: He rode in it for his shots on March 30 and his April 11 trip to Animal-911, as well as today to have staples removed, along with the rest of his shots. He is resting. Thank you for all of the e-mails of concern and support. He may not have appreciated them, but I did.

After the local DMV wouldn't take away my step-daughter's valid license, I mailed it to Jesse White. White returned it to her. He wrote that a good citizen had "found" her license.

With her double vision, my Step-daughter sees a duplicate of any oncoming vehicle. She drives through the one further to the right. Both she and Mother shouldn't propel a car, yet received unsolicited renewal stickers in the mail, which both flaunted at me, the evil one who stands in their way of possessing the freedom of driving.

My license expired in January. Jesse White wrote me that, as having not taken the test for 30 years, I would not be eligible to update my license online. I needed to retake the entire thing. And, please arrive with another driver, just in case I didn't pass.

Governor Pritzker said I should wait for the DMV to fully reopen June 1. With all the social distancing, the line at the DMV usually extends for two blocks. When I drove by and there was no line, in I went.

At the counter, I felt a wave of hatred coming from the clerk. The hatred emitting from this woman of color was so intense that the adjacent agent was angling to take over my case. I became very polite, extremely submissive, "yes ma'am" and pleasantly answered all questions.

Have you ever had the experience where someone just hates you on sight? Some people think my long legs, blonde hair and blue eyes give me an unfair advantage. Yes, I have privilege, as well as having to fight to get in the door. After college, I could not land a job in New Orleans that needed a degree. Those jobs were reserved for "college men who'd be supporting a family." And, the fight to get admitted into graduate school was epic. Suffice to say, I was one of 3 women in a class of 120. And, this was the 1990's.

"Where is all your paperwork for the Real ID?" the DMV clerk demanded, her beads in the colors of Africa quivering in righteous anger.

"If it's alright, I would like a regular driver's license. Thank you," I demurred. "I plan on using my passport card. Thank you."

She instantly calmed. Seems she hates the hassles of the Real ID paperwork and dealing with upset customers who neglect to bring all of the necessary documents. Since I came to her station with very few papers, she assumed I was going to use my "white privilege," pull rank, and cause a fight.

She read me wrong! While that red star tells law enforcement that the carrier is a citizen, the Real ID is not necessary. A passport or a Global access card does the same thing. I object to setting up more tracking records in the Imperial Pritzker State of Illinois. No thank you!

The DMV clerk then decided that I did not need to even take any tests and sent me to pay $60 and get my paper license. The last time I had a paper license was when I was 15. It had no picture, but places where an officer could punch it (whenever a ticket was issued).

My previous husband grew up in New York City. With so much public transportation, never learning to drive. When we were first married, he took Driver's Ed, but kept missing his appointment to take the NY driving test (So many applicants that appointments were required for the test).

Moving to Illinois, it would have been helpful to have a husband who drives (As women age, men who drive, have their own teeth and a good pension become very sexy). So, I told him I wanted a wallet sized, laminated picture of him for Christmas.

"Should I go to J.C. Penny's portrait studio?" the ever frugal man asked.

"No, the DMV." Wallet-sized, laminated picture….

He was afraid to fail. At the Bridgeview DMV (less crowed than Chicago), I took my only Illinois test, ever. Then, went outside and wrote down the answers. We spent the next few nights pouring over the answers, until he was confident. The DMV folks could not believe that someone so old would have never held a license, which did not help his anxiety. That year, my Christmas present was carried in my late husband's wallet.

My first DMV experience was on my 15th birthday. It was also my first time to drive. My parents had plotted that I would fail the written test. But, just in case I did manage to pass, Dad took me to a parking lot and showed me how to turn on Mother's car (not his), go forward and backwards. Mother drove a humongous navy blue Lincoln Continental Town Car with opera windows and fence-style chrome bumpers. We did a couple of large circles, before he drove me across the street to the DMV.

The DMV was in a trailer. The written test was 30 very logical questions, which I passed. Dad was sweating.

The driving examiner got into the car with me. He asked if he saw me practicing this morning. Told me to exit the lot between the metal uprights and turn into the street. I looked at the uprights and asked, " Are they far enough apart for me to get through?"

He tightened his belt and drew in his breath. I've been back to look at those uprights. You could parallel park a semi-truck between them.

We lurched around the block. He indicated to turn into the parking lot, then park the car. Passing the trailer, I drove to the far side of the lot and pulled neatly between two yellow lines.

"You could have parked closer to the trailer," quizzically he stated.

"Oh no, sir," I replied. "This is Mother's car. If someone dented it, when they were parking, I would never hear the end of it."

PASS!