The Department of Lost Time

 Carolyn J. Rose

First, let me say that the staff members I encountered at the 136th Street Department of Licensing Office in Vancouver were upbeat, helpful, and patient. They were also extremely efficient.

But now for the rant:

When I got the notice that my driver's license would expire in a month, Ihopped on the site to make an appointment. Because I'm over 70, I couldn't renew online. Apparently they want to make sure I'm ambulatory and have a pulse. And I think that's a great idea because I've had several close calls with drivers who . . .

But anyway, I found no appointment openings for weeks in my area, only available slots at offices an hour or more away. Given the price of gas thanks to that war with Iran, I quickly axed the idea of a hundred-mile round trip.

My husband—also helpful and patient up to a point if that point is within, say, a ten-minute range—called the state headquarters and was told that there were no openings in Vancouver before my license expired. When he asked what we were supposed to do, he was told we should show up at 8:30 when the office opened and get in line and wait and take our chances.

And so we pulled up at 8:40 and found the room dark. Seems that on Thursday mornings the drivers' licensing staff has a meeting that runs until 10. We groused a bit at the poor guy at the car registration desk who gave us the “don't shoot the messenger” talk, but then we slunk away.

After procuring a snack from a nearby grocery store, putting in fifteen minutes waiting in the parking lot and watching a dozen people forming a line, I went in to use the restroom. Posted on the door of the women's toilet was a sign stating it was closed and staff would direct us to the alternate location.

​Queried about that, the don't-shoot-the-messenger guy informed me there was no alternate location and a plumber would probably arrive later in the day. I groused again, this time louder and longer.

Since Mike's license won't expire until November, I suggested we go home and I'd return later. So we drove home, I emptied my bladder, and drove back. I arrived at 10:20 and was informed that I couldn't simply take a number and wait, but had to make an appointment. Fortunately, there was one available. At 12:45.

This is where I learned the secret that's apparently guarded so carefully by the folks answering questions at the state headquarters. A few minutes before the office opens—which seems to be 9 instead of 8:30—they open a same-day appointment schedule and you can scramble to get a slot.

Irritated as I was by the bureaucracy, I kept most of my cool and thanked the staff member for finding me a spot. Then, because the office is a 25-minute drive from home and gas, and I mentioned previously, is expensive, I went shopping. Not for clothes, but for chocolate and chips and cheesy snacks.

After a day at the Department of Lost Time, I'm two pounds heavier. But I now have a license good for 8 years. By that time, I hope to have enough brain cells still functioning to keep me from getting on the freeway. Or getting behind the wheel at all.

 

CAPITALIZING ON CRITTERS

 

Carolyn J. Rose

A recently opened cat cafe found feline lovers pressing their noses against the

windows and opening their wallets to secure seats inside. There, amid

twitching tails and tinkling bells on collars, patrons enjoyed coffee,

conversation, and the chance to be snubbed by a kitty.

The attraction to interaction with an animal—without 24/7 obligation—got

the capitalistic corner of my mind churning. I concluded there was money to

be made from close-up encounters with critters normally not considered pets.

Here are a few of my ideas.

Snooze with a Sloth. If you find yourself stressed out and physically exhausted, 

rent a hammock in an indoor jungle setting. Focus on the creature 

draped from a limb above you. Strive to achieve stillness. 

Painting with Pachyderms. Elephants enjoy creating works of art. For a fee,

and the thrill of clamping a yard of garden hose to your head, you can join

them. We guarantee you'll emerge with a one-of-a-kind original painting.

Baboon Buffet. If overeating is a problem, a visit to a baboon buffet could be

the cure. As you begin to load your tray, management will let loose a troop of

baboons. The resulting competition for chow will insure that either you get

nothing or what you're able to scavenge has been trampled, thrown, or

previously chewed. If you don't lose a finger, you'll certainly lose your

appetite.

Buffalo Banking. Need a loan? It's guaranteed if you can 

make it through the herd of bison milling in the bank 

lobby.

Jog with a Jaguar. Want to increase your speed but lack motivation? Lace up

your running shoes, strap a raw steak to your butt, and head for the Big Cat

Track. A sliding-scale fee determines the length of your head start.

​

Shark Swim School. If lifeguards leap to your rescue because you appear to

be drowning, it's time to stop flailing and improve your technique. Swimming

with sharks can help you develop a smooth stroke and cut through the water

faster.

Mambo with a Mamba. Having trouble with your footwork? A lesson at this

dance studio will keep you on your toes and keep those toes in seriously fast

motion. As there are no refunds, knee-high boots are recommended.

Anaconda Auto Sales. Naturally you want a great deal. But can you squeeze

one out before the snake squeezes you to the point where you're willing to

pay for undercoating and an extended warranty?

Obviously, given the number of species on earth and human inventiveness,

the sky is the limit. Also obviously, pursuing any of these ideas could result

in injury or worse. So bear that in mind and don't blame me if your car gets

damaged at the Gorilla Gas Station or if your Playdate with a Platypus ends

with a visit to urgent care.