Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

Today, in order to complete my official Coloradan residency, I’m headed to the driver’s license division to renew my license. Which, truthfully, I wouldn’t be doing except for the fact that is expires on my birthday in a couple of weeks anyway. I have not actually been able to get a hold of a live person at the division, so I’m journeying across town, 1.5 hours on two separate buses, and hoping they won’t require a driving test when I get there. Or a written test for that matter. I’m relatively sure I can pass the eye test. We’ll see.

Well,, my trip to the DOR was not only painless, it might have even been enjoyable. Luckily I persisted in trying to reach a real person, and my call was answered by a gentleman in the DOR call center named Paco. He was brisk, but efficient, and saved me an unnecessary trip/day.
“I have a Utah driver’s license, it expires in 2 weeks, and I need to transfer it to Utah, but it expires in two weeks, so how long will the new one be good for?”
“The new one will be good for five years, (I think it was five. He also told me the official term to use when I arrived at the DOR, but I’ve forgotten it.)
“Oh great, how much is it?” I asked.
“21 dollars, but you’ll need specific documentation. Do you have a copy of your current license?”
“You’ll need something showing Colorado residency. Do you have your mail there?…”
I panicked for a moment because I had cleaned the other day and had possibly thrown out any mail. But, of course, I remembered the federal income tax reminder sitting on top of my fridge, and I grabbed it. “I have a tax bill right here.”
“Does it have your current address on it?”
“That will work. Now, do you have a passport?”
“Go get it.” Paco waited patiently while I rooted around in my bag, searching for my expired, but newly accessorized passport in its brown leather holder, which I carried around just because it looked important.
“Got it.”
“Does it have your complete middle name listed?”
“Yes, yes it does.”
“Great. That’s all you’ll need. You’ll have to pass an eye exam, pay 21 dollars, cash or check only, and have a new picture taken.”
I was a little speechless, and concerned that this sounded way too easy.
“Thank you so much Paco. You’ve saved me a trip.”
“You’re welcome ma’am. Do you know where your closest DOR office is?”
I told him the one I had google-mapped—which I specifically picked because it was on the East side. But his enthusiasm made me forget, and I listened happily as he gave me efficient transportation directions to the DOR closest to me. Paco restored my faith in call-center employees.
I realized the error of my ways when the 14 bus took me down West Mississippi Street. Billboards, bus benches and storefronts were covered with advertising written in Spanish. Aside from the elderly couple on their way to visit with the IRS, I was the palest and the oldest person on the bus.
I was in and out of the DOR in under an hour, and hopped back on the 14 toward the light rail station. As I boarded the bus, the driver asked how I was.
“Fine, thanks. And you?” I said.
“Oh, well,” he said, kind of smiling and shaking his head. He seemed to be having a tough day. “I’m doin’ a little better now though.”
“Well, good. May I have a trasfer please?” I deposited my changed and took my transfer. He was actually a pretty fine older gentleman, and his tone was respectful.
“I’m doin’ so much better now that you’re here. My day is good.”
I think he meant it.

April 17, 2012 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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