In what has felt like the final stages of a video game, I had reached the boss level, the NYS DMV office.
I had all my paperwork, checked at least a dozen times. ?Took a ticket, took a seat.
Actually, it wasn’t that bad at all – perhaps 20 minutes. ?My number was called – nervously I approached the counter. These next few minutes could be the end of my journey if I played it right.
First off, the very nice lady behind the counter explained that in her 11 years at the DMV she’d never registered a custom car. ?Oh no, this may not be a good sign. ?Much conversation with colleagues and consultation with the computer, we progressed through the paperwork.
I signed some forms. ?I swiped a credit card.
She reached down below her desk and … as the clouds parted, a ray of sunshine beamed down onto the Wappingers Falls, NY, DMV office … the angels sang … and a shiny pair of brand new registration plates appeared before my eyes.
And THEN she decides to start telling me about her son who is repairing a truck. ?Yes, yes, nice, what kind of truck? ?Be polite, but, let’s get out of here – I HAVE PLATES. ?All that’s standing between me and the road is a screwdriver to attach them!
I drove home, mentally going through all the work I’d done over the years, those who helped me both with physical exertion and with supportive words.
I was done. ?I WAS DONE.
OK, so not really. ?A huge amount of work to do – interior, sound proofing, carpets, bodywork, paint. ?But right now none of that mattered – I WAS ROAD LEGAL.
So, got home and did the only thing I could. ?Went for a drive. ?10 glorious miles – nothing fell off and for that I’m content.