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People Feature
Amy Sedaris digs wigs and baking
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Nothing Personal
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[05/03/00]

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Like so many before me, I came to California brimming with hopes and dreams -- and neglected to go directly to the Department of Motor Vehicles to apply for a California driver's license. I pushed that off for several months, risking enormous fines, because California sets the deadline at two weeks and that's just plain unreasonable. Fuck you, state of California! I've got to find a place to live and settle into my job and find the nearest goddamned grocery store first, OK? Is it all right if I get a roof over my head and buy some food before shelling out hundreds of dollars in smog fees, registration fees and California insurance? Is it OK if I get my life squared away before dropping myself down the rabbit hole that is the local DMV office? Thanks.

So it's June 1998. My buddy Eric and I have both registered our cars, but have put off dealing with the driver's license -- mainly because of the test. By all accounts, it's tricky. Not "two trains leave Chicago traveling in opposite directions" tricky but, rather, "Can you park your car at a white curb if you're a veterinarian carrying a dying raccoon?" tricky. You can get only three wrong. And who wants to study? I mean, I've been driving for 13 years by this point. However, if we get pulled over with California tags and out-of-state licenses -- so busted. (I have three friends who are police officers. They have assured me that this is a particular pleasure.)

So, after steeling ourselves for the worst (luckily, you get to fail the written test twice before having to call it quits and return to fight another day), Eric and I hit the DMV. I hand over my New York driver's license. The woman types in my name and birth date.

"I'm sorry, sir. You have outstanding tickets on your license from the state of New Jersey. You'll need to get a letter of clearance from them before we can process your California driver's license."

None of this is true, of course. But she's not having any of it.

"Are you sure it's the same exact name? Same birthday? Same Social Security number? Same address?"

"I'm sorry, sir. You'll have to work it out with New Jersey."

Little did I know, standing there in the Washington Avenue DMV, that my life was about to change forever.

The biggest mistake you can make at a DMV when you are certain they are wrong is to walk out the door. Of course, they don't make it easy to stay. Instantly they place the burden of resolving the issue on your shoulders. And so you schlump away with your broken spirit and your meager resources and make a few phone calls. But the whole thing's incestuous. The New Jersey DMV told me I had to contact New York. New York told me I had to contact New Jersey.

So, naive fool that I was, I returned to the California DMV and told the new woman my whole story all over again, including the parts where neither New Jersey nor New York would help me, and do you know what she said?

"Why don't you go to New Jersey and resolve it."

"In person? You mean fly there?"

"Yes."

Clearly, this woman didn't want to help me. So I called New Jersey again and made a bit of progress. The DMV there sent me copies of the two tickets on the license. They were for a David Goodman, birth date 3-12-70. That's me, all right. But then they listed a New Jersey driver's license number, New Jersey address, New Jersey registration, different car, different license plate number. This was not me.

I returned to the DMV with the printouts of the tickets and explained very slowly and succinctly how, despite the odds, another gentleman and I shared the same name and birth date but clearly not the same driver's license or driving skills. The woman would not even look at the documents.

"You need a letter of clearance!"

"How can I get a letter of clearance from a state where I don't hold a driver's license?!"

"Figure it out!"

I was furious. "You mean to tell me, if two people have the same name and same birthday and one happens to be a crappy driver, the other one has to suffer for all eternity?!"

She nodded.

OK, I know I should have gone to a supervisor. I know I should have stayed and yelled and screamed until someone helped me. But I am lazy and don't thoroughly enjoy confrontation.

So next I decided to take the backdoor route. I sent New Jersey a detailed letter filled with various photocopies that combined into a point-by-point refutation of any worthwhile correlation between myself and the defendant. They weren't buying that day. I sent a second letter two months later. Their letters back were masterpieces of ignorance. Every keystroke of my missive was dedicated to explaining how I was not New Jersey Driver #G8964 etc., but how I was New York Driver #479 etc. At the top of both letters, I put: "David Goodman, re: New Jersey Driver's License #G8964" etc. Not even a photocopy of my current, still-valid New York license nor a printout of my (clean) New York driving record for the past four years made a dent.

Fucking furious.

Next page | No one knew I was just a few short steps away from the big house