Mommy, You did your best...the saga of Me and Jesse White.

December 05, 2005 | Category: Well, That Was Random

So. Last year, on my birthday, my driver's license was due to expire. Just before my birthday, I received a letter in the mail from a man named Jesse White. Jesse White, as you will discover, is the Secretary of State of Illinois and I was honored indeed that he took the time to send me a letter.

Until I read it.

Seems that Jesse White, Secretary of State, had -in light of 9/11- joined up the Illinois Driver's Information with that of the whole entire country. Joined it up, electronicified it, merged it, spindled it, mutilated it, and doshgarn it, just about sauteed it.

And when he was done, wouldn't you know it, but there's was an irregularity in my records and he was inviting me to fix it before I would be allowed to renew my driver's license.

Why thank you, Mr. Jesse White.

So CD and I trudged downtown to the Secretary of State's office in the building near the statue that looks like a horsehead. Picasso, I think. And we waited in about 10 different lines and were finally told that we should come back some other day because they didn't know me, had never heard of me, and I should call first.

So I went home, and started making phone calls and writing letters. For the next three months, I did this. My birthday came, and went. And I was driving on an expired licence that was not suspended but could not be renewed.

The first glimmer of help I had was a nice lady in Springfield. She informed me that this had to do with an accident I had. In 1986. I knew about the accident, it was my only accident. It happened in the snowy winter when I was 20 years old and an uncertain driver and I slid on a patch of ice and tagged a Pinto in my dad's powder-blue 1976 Chevy Impala.

My dad, as it turned out, had let the insurance on the Impala lapse.

And thus did I end up paying $500 in fees, fines, penalties and damages for a ding on a fender of a car older than I was. By the time I did so, I had given up driving altogether and stayed a walker and cabber for many years. But Illinois eventually gave me a letter of clearance and thus when I moved back to Boston and decided it was time I start driving again I was able to get a new license.

12 frigging years ago.

Seemingly, Mr. Jesse White is in need of money and has decided to conveniently forget this and wanted his $500. Again. With interest.

So I slogged and battled and whipped out my checkbook and to no avail. Each time I tried to get my new license, I was rejected.

Then it was last spring, and on a random day I called Springfield again. Tiredly, sadly asking the lady on the phone if there was any way in the world I could fix this thing. Since I was driving around on an expired and non-suspended license. And she said that it had nothing to do with that accident long ago, it was about a ticket I got in 1998 and never paid. (My bad.)

With a gleam in my eye I offered to throw money at the problem. She agreed that would be a fine solution and she would send me the paperwork so I could do so.

The paperwork never came.

So I called back and was told that I had to call the Cook County Courthouse to get the number of the case and THEN make an appointment to go to court and THEN pay the fines.

So I did that.

The people at the Cook County Courthouse told me that they would send me the paperwork and a courtdate.

The paperwork never came.

But I did get another letter from Mr. Jesse White. And while I was still honored that such a busy man as the Secretary of State would go out of his way to find the time to make my life a living hell for 9 months, I was no closer to a solution than I had been before. Just very, very clear that I was under no circumstances allowed to renew my license.

It was a fine summer, me and my expired and non-suspended license drove all the way to Boston and back with a nice side trip through upstate New York's grape country and when we got home, I even began driving Bear to and from school each day.

I admit it, I was begining to get frustrated. And maybe, perhaps, a little bitter. Maybe.

But here came my birthday. Again. The anniversary of Jesse White's first letter to me. And I thought, let's try. Again.

So I called Springfield.

Again.

And the nice lady on the phone looked up my number and hummed alot into my ear and then finally told me that it looked I had left to do was to pay the fine from the ticket from 1998. I did so. It took a week to process.

Then I called back last Friday and the same sweet lady told me I needed to pay a $70 reinstatement fee at any local DMV and once it had processed, I would be cleared to get my drvier's license renewed.

I called CD in whoops of joy and on his lunch hour he scampered over to the local DMV station and paid the $70 fee on my behalf. He brought home the precious receipt and this afternoon we all met up and headed over to get my driver's license. I even blew-dry my hair for the picture.

We filed in, and I presented my pile of documents to clerk #9. My passport, my old license, a utility bill with my current address, the sundry receipts, and a note from my mother saying that I was a really good driver.

She called up my record and shook her head and said "Hon, you gotta go with my supervisor around the corner here."

So I went around the corner to the blue section and he looked at his computer screen and grunted and gave me an angry look.

"You got an accident here, and you weren't insured," he said nastily, from high atop his stool.

"Yes," I agreed. "Yes, 20 years ago. But it is taken care of."

He shook his head. "No it isn't. There are 3 stops on this record. You're suspended."

I showed him my receipts, and explained about the lady in Springfield.

He shook his head again. "What I suggest is you call your lady in Springfield and see what you really need to do to take care of this. Because we can't help you here. You have to fix these things before you come in here wasting people's time."

I nodded and took back my piles of paper, my passport, my old license, and I made my way over to where CD and Bear were sitting in a pile on a beige plastic chair. There faces were wide with big smiles of support.

"Uh, it isn't fixed," I whispered. "The stuff is still in the computer as not fixed."

We walked out into the bitter cold, and jumped back into the mini-van. "I don't understand," CD huffed. "It was fine. I paid the reinstatement fee at the other station and they processed it while I waited. They said you were good to go."

I shrugged. And then collapsed into tears. CD awkwardly held me from the driver's seat while I cried out a year's worth of frustration and exhaustion.

And from the backseat, a little voice. "It's OK, Mommy. You did your best..."

If only that were good enough.

Jesse White, Secretary of State, you can go suck eggs. You and your entire office of dingbats. I am sick of you. I am sick of them. I am sick of this. I want no more fancy letters. I want to make no more non-toll-free phone calls to Springfield. I want my license, I want it now.

People who want to cause this much aggravation in my life had better dang well be related to me by blood or marriage. So unless you are intent on courting my mother, who is a fine woman and worthy of much better than yourself, I strongly suggest you get off your appointed ass and fix my record.

That is all.

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