The Dreaded DMV

The Dreaded DMV

I felt anxious when I heard the news.  It was that familiar reaction I had had as a student during exams.  But that was years ago… and here I was worrying about taking a silly driver’s test. What if I didn't pass?  The surprising news is that the state of North Carolina requires passing a written test regardless of what state you move from or how long you’ve been driving. I’ve had a license for nearly 50 years. The day I received the driver’s manual, which the Department of Motor Vehicles representative on the phone said she would send me, I began worrying about studying for a test imagining the ordeal of going to through another DMV experience.

Memories of the bureaucracy, the long lines, the unfriendly people associated with “the dreaded DMV” quickly came to mind. I have had licenses in Maryland, Florida, Colorado, Vermont, Virginia, Alabama, New Jersey, New Hampshire, and the United Arab Emirates.  This doesn’t include the years I drove in Chile and Costa Rica where we never bothered to get anything but an international license which we obtained from some nice person at a AAA office in the US.  The one and only written test I ever took was for my first license in Maryland when I was 17 years old and had just learned to drive. Of course, at 17, life was all about studying for everything from the SAT’s to school exams.  All my subsequent licenses were a result of waiting in lines in some DMV office, which I usually struggled to find in a new place I had moved to. But I had never had to retake a written test.

Recently I began to wonder why Departments of Motor Vehicles, no matter where they are, don’t carry happy memories for most of us. They only allow for a sense of relief when the ordeal of receiving a new license is behind you. It’s somewhat like going to the dentist’s office with a cavity or two.  I also associate the DMV with worrying about my teenager and whether he would pass the test on the first go round.

My most unusual DMV experience happened in Dubai. The United Arab Emirates has strict rules about resident expats and a bureaucracy that will rival any in the world.  It took several months after I arrived to get my resident papers and then I had to apply for a driver’s license. An international license was not accepted.  Despite the familiar feeling of dread, I told myself that it was simply a matter of going to a DMV branch, presenting the proper forms, my passport, a valid U.S. license from any state, and an application fee. No written test. Only a few weeks before, Art had taken his Vermont license and had no problems getting a U.A.E. driver’s license.  I went to the same office, took a number and waited in line.  When I presented my papers, the Emirati, who spoke little English and was not friendly, took my Vermont license and spent some time studying it.  “This is Virginia?” he asked in broken English.  “No, it’s Vermont,” I replied.  Reaching for a large loose-leaf binder on the back counter.  He began to go through the pages and I realized they were photocopies of U.S. driver’s licenses that had been organized in alphabetical order by state.  He was looking for Vermont and it wasn’t there.   I knew I was not the first person to have walked into that office with a Vermont license.  

“Virginia? he asked again.  “No, Vermont…it’s a state near the border of Canada, north of New York,” I tried to explain.  He checked his book again.  Finally he came back, handed me all my forms, my passport, the money and my U.S. license and told me he could not give me a driver’s license today because Vermont was not a U.S. state. If it was not in his book then he was done with me. I was stunned but asked what I should do next. I'd have to go to the main DMV office in Deira, on the other side of Dubai, which I could already picture mobbed with people and several hours of wait time.

As we came out into the hot sun I knew I was not going to go to Deira… no way.  I called an American friend and asked her what DMV office she had gone to for her license.  She mentioned a shopping mall in Jumeirah Beach.  We were not far from there and checking my watch I saw that they would be open. I found the office, walked in with my papers, passport, Vermont license and fee.  My stomach was in knots but outwardly I was composed pretending I had just started the process.  I turned everything over to a young Emirati in his neatly ironed, white dish dash and head dress and simply stood in front of him in silence.  As he picked up my documents and began examining my Vermont license, I held my breath waiting to see what would happen.  He turned over the license and held it up again and just when I thought he would hand it back to me, he sat down at his computer and began to enter my data.  Fifteen minutes later I walked out with my new Emirati driver’s license.

Now I was in North Carolina, faced with taking a test and adding one more license to my growing list.  Having read through all 112 pages of the North Carolina Driver’s Handbook once, and wondering how it would feel to fail a written test after driving for fifty years, I set off for the DMV.  Asheville is not Dubai and  people here are simply nice…  even DMV officials.  Why did that surprise me?   I breezed through the test, the eye test and identifying road signs.  Had a pleasant conversation with the DMV person who helped me and I was done in 45 minutes. 

While I held my new North Carolina driver’s license in my hand I felt foolish for having allowed myself to imagine the worst.  Why is it, I asked myself for the millionth time, that the things we dread the most in life often turn out to be the easiest?