Tag Archives: DMV

A thief in the night

On Thursday afternoon, I rolled out of my house, ready to pick Scarlett up from school. My sister-in-law, Beverley, was the driver that day, and she walked out behind me, pressing the button that opens the side door of the van. As the ramp unfolded, I saw that my path was blocked—bizarrely—by the fat black Honda instruction manual that normally resides in the glove box. I also saw that the driver’s seat was fully reclined, as though someone had been sleeping in the car.

Later, Bev joked that she thought maybe I had made Rob sleep there the night before in a moment of irritation. I laughed. “There’s no way your brother would ever sleep in the car or even on the couch unless it was his choice.” Rob is very, very stubborn, which is irrelevant to this story, but I felt like sharing it anyway. Maybe it’s a foreshadowing thing. I guess we’ll see.

Upon closer look at the van, we realized that all the contents of the glove box were strewn around the floor. I called Rob.

“Did you put the van driver’s seat into a lying down position and empty the glove box onto the floor of the car last night?” I asked conversationally.

“No,” he answered slowly, as though it had not been an entirely normal question. Read More>

The Parking Ticket

The dog had been in our possession for four days. He was small and cuddly, and peed wherever he felt like it. Every morning, sometimes as early as 4:45, he would whine to let us know he was ready for the day to start. It was time to take him to the vet, to get him vaccinated, the goal being that he could eventually graduate from the backyard, run around in the real world, tire himself out and maybe sleep until 6:30am.

Rob was working, so the vet visit was up to me. My assistant Rochelle, Scarlett, Otto and I got into the mobility van and set out on our mission. I was feeling short of breath, still not far enough away from my ICU visit to be purely comfortable in the great outdoors, and looking forward to my new anti-anxiety medication kicking in.

It did kick in, somewhere in the middle of the appointment, and I began to feel my personality returning. The visit itself was uneventful, except that obviously Otto peed on the floor.

When we got back to the car, there was a ticket on the window. Rochelle picked it up and handed it to me. $875 for parking in a handicapped spot with an expired placard. Unbeknownst to me, the placard had expired on June 30. It was July 15.

If you have a permanent parking placard, there is supposedly nothing you need to do but wait for a new one to arrive when the old one expires. But nothing had come in the mail, and I hadn’t even noticed. I don’t think about the parking placard very often. I drive around in a mobility vehicle, with a wheelchair and hands that can’t even reach up to greet a friend or new acquaintance. I was relying on the efficiency of the DMV. Cue insane laughter.

We went home and I stared at the ticket. It felt like an insult. Obviously an officer had placed it on the mobility van. Who the hell would be driving that thing if they didn’t have to? Read More>

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Back to the DMV

Last week, I had to go to the dreaded DMV. Though I swore I’d made my last visit there, it turns out neither Rob nor I corrected our address upon moving, and our car registration renewal was sent to the wrong place. I took the earliest available appointment, an after-school option, thus ensuring that I had Scarlett along for the trip. Awesome choice, because if there’s anything more fun than going to the DMV, it’s taking a small child to the DMV. Especially a small child who announces the dire need to pee immediately after you arrive and are assigned a number. Winners all around.

We had gotten there early, and, rather than hang out in the depressing and crowded germ closet that is the DMV, we decided to take a walk (as I’ve said before, this is a term I use loosely) through the nearby Panhandle, which looks just like it sounds, a long, narrow extension to the “pan” of Golden Gate Park. It’s a place I’ve taken Scarlett a million times, because our first apartment was just one block away.

Back then, I walked (REAL walking) through the Panhandle almost every day with my new baby, snuggling her into a wrap against my chest or tucking her into an Ergo carrier to go get my morning coffee. I pushed her in a stroller for miles to get to Spreckels Lake, where we watched people sail small, electric powered boats. Read More>