PlazaJen: Passion Knit

I took today off because I had to get license plates for my new car. That in of itself wouldn’t make you think “Uh, yeah! Whole vacation day! Who’s Lazy?!” – but this was one of those sequential things, like when you give a mouse a cookie. (Mmm, ok, let’s not talk about mice.) Anyway, I needed to get plates. As long as I’ve made the trek there, I should update my driver’s license and have my current address on it. I thought this would take the same requirements as renewing, so I perused the website and discovered I would need seventeen different pieces of paper proving my existence in the universe and my place of residence – one of which was my social security card.

Which, of course, was stolen in the burglary. So, now we back that thing up (call me Big Daddy) and put a trip to the Social Security office in front of the DMV. I thought about wrapping myself in red tape last night, just to mentally prepare. Let me just say that the DMV part of this excursion was a cakewalk. Though I did realize I’d forgotten my insurance card in the car, and on my way back to the DMV, I did speedwalk so I’d get in front of a very frail old lady who looked like she was going in to renew her license so she could drive to the cemetery and die. There wasn’t too much waiting, but enough for me to notice the fact the staff at Ye Olde DMV is getting into the Halloween spirit. They have giant monsters and skeletons (like, people-sized and three-dimensional) and the eyes light up and sing. Sort of like Billy Bass on a whole new level. And yellow caution tape draped all over the posts and dividers that corral you into line. That’s not what I expected. AT all.

Speaking of things you don’t expect, nor did I expect to have my purse searched by an armed security guard at the Social Security office. Thankfully, I did not have to remove my shoes, because it’s freezing here and the floor was tile. The actual process to get a new card was straightforward, and I didn’t have to wait too long, but long enough to see another armed guard stroll through, who later wished me a nice day in the parking lot – not that I could park there, because all the spaces were full. The whole armed-guard thing, juxtaposed with the mostly-elderly clientele, was the weirdest part of the whole morning. I marvel at my own naïveté sometimes. As I was driving off, I couldn’t believe I said it out loud, but I muttered, “Freedom isn’t free, is it Jennifer?” And I answered myself with, “It’s not the same kind of freedom anymore, is it?”