Geoff Duncan

I'm now in possession of a brand-spanking new Washington state driver's license. It's something of a surprise: I figured I'd just fill out a change of address form. Typically, the Department of Licensing keeps your address change on file, but doesn't issue a new license unless you specifically request one and pony up $10. Since my license was due to expire this summer, I figured I'd save my $10, just file the change of address (as required by law withing 10 days of a move), and get a new license on schedule.

So I walked to a (very) nearby Department of Licensing office. Contrary to all my previous experience with the DOL, there was practically no waiting, even through the office had a sign up saying they were short staffed due to illness. I pulled a ticket and dutifully waited for 186. Ding. My turn.

I stepped up and set down my driver's license. "Hi, I've moved and just need to change my address."

The bespectacled Asian lady at the counter took me and my license in with a single glance. "No no. Expire soon. We handle renewal now. Twenty-five dollar. New license, expire on your birthday five years. Sign here." I discover a license signature form and a pen have materialized on the counter in front of me.

"Uh..." I'm put back on my heels a bit. I never suspected I could renew many months early. "I don't have $25 cash. Can I write a check?"

"Check fine! Make out to Dee Ohh Ell."

Department of Licensing. Right. I sign the card and get out my checkbook.

The woman inspects my signature in a matter of nanoseconds. "What new address?" I tell her. "Now new phone?" I tell her that too. "Height weight same." It wasn't a question. "Look in box read middle top row." I try to peer into the vision-testing box on the counter, but there was nothing to see. I futz up and down: maybe the angle's wrong?

I hear an exasperated pen tapping on the other side of the counter. "Press button top of box with forehead, okay!"

Oh. Now I feel like an idiot. The inside of the box illuminates and three columns of letters appear. I start reading the middle column. "V-H-L..."

"Thank you! Go over get picture ID." A receipt for $25 magically appears on the counter before me, and a bell rings. "Next!"

Looking at my new license, it appears I'm still an organ donor. I have no idea if my voter registration got updated. But I doubt anyone spends very long at this lady's particular counter!