Down at the DMV

There was a time, not that long ago, when everyone had to go to the DMV once a year. Before "Renew for 2" and the vast expansion of online services, anyone of modest means with a registered vehicle and/or a driver's license had no other option of renewing than to head to the nearest service center and get in that looooooooong line. 

But what a place for people watching! There was always a generous cross section of your town there-- teenagers taking tests and getting their permits, people picking up plates for a new car, folks moving in from other states who needed a new license, and the rest of us conducting mundane requisite renewals.

Friends, I'm here to report that that world still exists! It is much more organized now, with a check-in counter where you get the forms you need and a service number, and a lot of chairs to sit in while you wait to be called. And at 2 PM on a Thursday, it was a little more like an airport gate in between flights, but down by the old drive-in window, long since closed, there was still a lot of excitement as kids were tested and photographed. And up by me, there was still a lot of confusion, because bureaucracy is a live and well.

In the time it took me to retitle the car we first leased and then purchased, I heard a taxi driver begging for a new license, and I smelled a guy, who practically floated in a cloud of weed, get his license, and I saw a family from New Hampshire get their new Virginia licenses, too. I also heard about a former DMV employee who was issuing refunds in to incarcerated people and having them sent to her own address, and I was reminded that this was the service center where several of the hijackers on 9-11 got their licenses, too.

As she handed me my new plates, the agent reminded me that from now on, I could just renew online. My license expires in six years, though. I wonder what I'll see then?

Old Acquaintance

One of my oldest and dearest friends is flying in to visit next week. Pauly and I have known each other since the second day of 10th grade, when we sat together on one of the charter buses that ferried the whole school to a lush, green alpine valley punctuated by cows, glaciers, and Roman ruins. Not that either of us saw any of that; we were way too occupied with the examination of her braces for stray food bits, interspersed with non-stop conversation.

Of course, we were fast friends after that, mostly thanks to her: even though I am the opposite, Pauly has one of those never-met-a-stranger personalities. I confess, that to the introvert I am, she can be exhausting, but I love her, and even though it's been 46 years, and we have never once lived in the same town since we graduated, our friendship persists to this day. 

It has been a minute since we saw each other though, what with COVID, distance, and life and all. And so, when she texted last spring to see if I was interested in seeing Elton John's final tour? I was in! 

And now? Here she comes. "Do you want anything from Colorado?" she asked when she called to give me her itinerary.

"Just my best friend from high school!" I answered.

The Worst Night of the Year

In all my years of teaching, I have yet to find anyone, either teacher or parent, who enjoys Back to School Night. 

I counted my blessings and then counted them again the last couple of years when the entire event was reorganized to be first asynchronous and then virtual due to the pandemic. But we are back in person with a vengeance, (Social distancing is over, an administrator told me flatly, the other day), and so BSN is on the calendar for tonight, in its original, time-honored, conformation. 

Even as I type, I am dreading bolting my dinner, changing my clothes, returning to school, greeting parents with forced jocularity, and rushing through the same boring information five times, so I can go home late and drag my tired self back to work in the morning for another full day of corralling kids. It is a historic example of how little teacher time is valued.

At the very least? The ordeal should count as a floating half day toward our contract time. A little acknowledgement of and compensation for our inconvenience and overtime would be a step in the right direction.

Welcome to the Club

A few years ago some kids asked me to sponsor an anime club. "We'll run it," they assured me, "we just need a room and a teacher after school." Never a big fan of anime, unless you count the original Speed Racer series, I agreed anyway, assuming that it would be a relatively quiet hour I could spend working while they were watching. 

I couldn't have been more wrong! That anime club was a gathering of loud kids engaging in cosplay and other reenactments of the marginally inappropriate shows they tried to sneak by me. My role involved much more active supervision and contention than I expected, and I ended up with a splitting headache at the end of every meeting. 

Thankfully, COVID put an end to that club; by the time we were back at school in person for extracurriculars, the founders had moved on the high school, and another teacher agreed to sponsor the new anime club, which always seems much more tame whenever I happen past.

Today a couple of boys asked me if I would sponsor a new club, a Dungeons and Dragons Club. I confess that I have never played D&D, not even once, but I did grow up in the 70s, attend college in the 80s, and I have seen Stranger Things. I'm intrigued.

How bad could it be?

Trilingual

At dinner the other night, Heidi was regaling our neighbors with a tale of another 90s phenomena becoming a current, retro trend. The 20-something daughters of one of our colleagues are all into the idea that there are five love languages, popularized in the 1992 book by Gary Chapman. 

"Dad's love language is physical touch," they tell their mom, gleefully. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Mine is words of affirmation," she responds. "What's he going to do about that?"

Our group was of mixed ages. Some of them were in their 20s and 30s themselves when the notion first gained popularity, but others were not even in their teens then.

"I don't even know what they all are," admitted one woman. "I think I remember my dad talking about it, though. Is there a spending time one?"

"That might fit your dad," her husband pressed her playfully, "but what do you you think you are?"

She looked around at the people she had just hosted for dinner, the baby monitor with her daughter's slumbering image, and the man who was teasing her. "I just like to make sure everybody is taken care of."

"Acts of Service!" the group said in unison.

"I still think she likes to receive gifts," her husband shook his head.

"Who doesn't?" she scoffed, and we all had to agree.

SMH

What I saw:

A man on a bike stopped in the crosswalk staring at the driver of the car he was preventing from moving, even as the light changed. He waved other bikers past, holding his position until the light changed again.

What I heard:

F*ck you! F*ck you! Eat sh#t and die! as the biker finally pushed off and wobbled on his way.

What I thought:

Where has all this anger come from?

What I did:

Turned and walked away.

How I felt:

Angry at the man, furious, really. 

What I understood:

Emotions are contagious. I need to be mindful of what I'm spreading.

No Need to Go into Details

One of the new sixth graders was acting up a bit, so I invited him to my desk for a private conversation. His behavior was so ridiculous that I thought it best to invoke his former schooling to begin. "What elementary school did you go to?" I started.

"Who was your teacher?" I asked when named a school down the road, one where one of my neighbors happens to teach.

Sure enough, my neighbor was indeed his fifth grade teacher.

"Well," I shook my head, "I actually know her. She lives right down the street from me."

His eyes widened a bit and I continued. "What should I say when I see her and tell her that you are in my class now? Can I tell her you are following all the rules and doing what you should?"

He looked down at his feet. "Or should I tell her about how you are behaving today?" I regarded him seriously. 

He lifted his head and shrugged. "Just tell her I said, hi," he answered with a cheeky grin.

I do admit, I laughed.