I've never been one to dislike Friday the 13th.  In fact, I look forward to it.  It only comes a few times a year.  And history shows me that it's nothing to be afraid, nervous, or otherwise suspicious of.

Enter last Friday.

It was a short day at work for me.  I had to get to the DMV (ick) to get my name changed (yay!), a temporary one printed and in my wallet, and a new one on the way.  Now, I KNEW I would be there for awhile.  So I didn't plan anything else until after the DMV closed.  I did forget my book, but whatever.  Not a big deal.  In and out in just over an hour. I was impressed.

Especially since the girl who typed all my information into the computer was flirting with the security guard the WHOLE time.  I was rather annoyed.  Not because of the flirting, who cares about that.  It's just that, she has my social security card, my birth certificate, my passport, my driver license, my legal documents… everything. (hello identity theft, my name's Marjorie.)  So I'm watching my paperwork like a hawk, making sure this dude isn't sneaking pictures or have a photographic memory or anything.  Nope, he's just interested in poking the married girl in the ribs, who has children by the way, (and she's not interested in going to your paintball match) and asking if she needs lunch, because well, he's going out and he noticed she didn't and he's happy to bring something back for her.  He'll even pay.  

Seriously?

So I get all my paperwork back, I pay my $18, I get my temporary, I say very brightly “thanks!” and head out glad to be done with the place.  I get home.  I get food, kick back, put in a movie, then I realize…  She printed my temporary license with my old name.  HELLO!  The whole reason I spent an hour of my Friday afternoon off and had a VERY specific discussion about my old name becoming my new name was to get a new name on the stupid thing.  YOU PRINTED THE WRONG NAME!!!  Grrrr.

So this morning, while I'm rushing around and still half asleep because I got up late, I'm gathering paperwork so I can head back to the DMV, I can't find my social security card.  WHAT?!  I can't find it anywhere in my apartment.  Not in my wallet, not in my file folder, not in it's permanent home, not in the fridge, freezer, or underwear drawer.  (because at that point I just had to look.)  I decide not to panic, because I really don't have the brain capacity at that moment to process a freak out episode.  But I'm headed to the DMV anyway.

I get in the car to get my tail to work and on a hunch I look under my seat.  Whew.  Social security card found.  It's a good thing I didn't freak out because it totally would have been wasted.

So after work today I head to the blessed DMV.  Forgot my book again.  %&$*!  The parking lot is pretty full.  Oh well.  I get in line and wait 30 minutes to get a triage number. (It's a good thing no one was really dying.  Or bleeding.)  When I get to the counter, I explain the situation to the woman, she wonderfully had a sense of humor (and urgency) about it.  She doesn't even give me a number, takes my paperwork to an open window and says they will call me by name in just a few minutes.  And they do.  The very kind new woman behind the counter explains that the correct name is in the computer, prints me a new temporary, goes over ALL the information to make sure it's correct, and says, with real sympathy, “Sorry about that.  Have a great rest of the day.”  

And you know what?  I will.

The lesson learned?  Check all the bleeping paperwork before you leave.

And have a sense of humor about it.  Because sometimes, now matter how many times you exert a heavy sigh, the line doesn't move any faster.

M