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Sound judgment versus red tape

By ERIC KRAFT
Published December 24, 2006

Moving is never easy. When Madeline and I moved from St. Petersburg to New Rochelle, N.Y., every day seemed to bring a little complication that we hadn't anticipated.

One of those little complications was brought to us courtesy of the state of Florida. When I tried to get a New York driver's license, the clerk at the Department of Motor Vehicles office in White Plains discovered that my Florida license had a restriction code for a hearing disability.

"Are you deaf?" she asked.

"Not that I've noticed," I said.

"Turn around," she ordered.

I turned away from her.

"What day is it?" she asked.

"Wednesday," I said, triumphantly.

Unfortunately, that wasn't enough of a test to get the restriction removed. (If it had stayed on, we would have to have had a "full-width rearview mirror" installed in the car, which would have been expensive and ugly.) I was going to have to get a formal hearing test, which required a trip to another DMV office in Yonkers. The Testing and Investigation Department there was already closed for the day, so we were going to have to make that trip the next day.

Bright and early on Thursday, we drove to the DMV in Yonkers.

Upon arrival, I walked up to the information window and said to an imposing, brightly dressed woman there, "This is going to be the most interesting case of the day."

She raised an eyebrow doubtfully.

I narrated my adventures at the White Plains DMV on Wednesday, showed her my wad of application forms, half-signed in White Plains, with my Florida license stapled to the top, and concluded with, "So here I am to have my hearing tested."

"Honey," she said, "can you hear me?"

"Yes," I said.

"That's the test," she said. "You passed. But you're going to have to get a new picture. Go over there and get your picture taken, and then when you're called to a cashier, just say that you need this restriction removed."

"Thank you!" I said, and I went to the picture-taking area.

There I waited in a long line.

Eventually, I presented my case, and my already filled-out and partly processed papers, with my stapled and mutilated Florida license, to the picture-taking guy. He gave them a skeptical look.

"What's this about?" he asked.

I narrated my adventures at the White Plains DMV on Wednesday, and my experience at the information window, concluding with, "So here I am to get a new picture taken."

He went off to confer with somebody. After a while, he came back, unstapled all my papers, examined my Florida license, checked the restriction code on the back, and went off to confer with somebody else.

After a while, he came back and took my picture.

I waited to be called to a cashier.

In just seconds, my number was called. My pulse began to race. This could be it. I could be out of here and on my way home in short order.

The cashier looked at my documents.

"What's this about?" she asked.

I narrated my adventures again, from start to current status, concluding with, "So here I am to get that restriction removed."

"Who said your hearing was okay?" she asked.

"The woman over at - " I turned toward the information window. The woman was gone. "Well," I said, "the woman who was at the information window earlier."

The cashier went off to confer with somebody.

She came back with bad news: "You have to go upstairs to Testing and Investigation and get your hearing checked. Go out that door and take the elevator to the second floor." She pointed toward a door that said in large red letters NO RE-ENTRY.

I went through the door (never to return, according to the sign), took the elevator, and came out in a hallway where there were no signs at all. Reasoning that finding the way to Testing and Investigation might be part of the test, I began walking down a hallway.

My friend, the imposing, brightly dressed woman from the information window appeared down the corridor, as if by magic, emerging from an intersecting corridor. She spotted me. She registered surprise. "What did they do? Send you up here?" she cried.

"They wouldn't take your word for it," I said. "They said I have to go to Testing and Investigation."

"Honey," she said, standing staunch and tall in the corridor, with her fists on her hips, "I AM Testing and Investigation!"

She took my bundle of documents.

"Can you still hear me?" she asked.

"Yes, I can," I said.

In a big, bold hand, she wrote OK TO REMOVE RESTRICTION on my form and signed it with a flourish.

"Come on," she said.

She grabbed me by the arm, led me downstairs, whipped out a key for the NO RE-ENTRY DOOR, escorted me to the cashier I had seen, tossed the papers at her and said, "Give this man his license. He's been through enough."

Eric Kraft, formerly of St. Petersburg, is the author of a series of novels about "The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences, and Observations of Peter Leroy." The most recent is "Taking Off."

[Last modified December 24, 2006, 11:12:24]