Sunday, August 28, 2005

Benjamin vs. BMV

The following story has been slightly edited from its original appearance in the Chronicles in order to clear up some of the nested parentheticals of which I was so fond in the late 90’s. It was first published on Monday, January 5th, 1998, and what I’ve always loved about this story is the fact that the clerks at the DMV were the ones who told me, quite incorrectly, what the BMV meant in the first place. This was the first in a long line of lessons geared towards teaching me that nobody from Indiana is to be trusted.

I would like to make this story a link from a smaller post, but I cannot figure out how this might be accomplished at this time, so here it is in its entirety. I will post Remote Control Terrorism under separate cover tomorrow, along with an explanation of the meaning of Companion Blog.


I normally tend to believe that stereotypes, perhaps even most stereotypes, are unjustified, based in fear and misunderstanding.

On the other hand, there's Indiana.

Today's adventure involved getting a new driver's license and changing the title of the car. Indiana law states that within 60 days of your establishing full time residency (defined as a period of continuous and primary residency within the state borders of 180 days, or that point in time during which more than 50% of your total income is derived from in-state funds - who the hell writes these laws?) you must have your tags and title transferred to Indiana State tags and titles. So, I go to the BMV (not, for whatever reason, the DMV, or Department of Motor Vehicles, but the BMV, which doesn’t even mean Bloomington Motor Vehicles, but rather the Bureau of Motorized Visitation, as if it were some sort of holy or celestial event) to get all of this done. Well, in order to get my GA State license transmogrified to an Indiana driver's license I have to take, *gasp*, a test.

The Indiana driver’s licensing test is a unique experience. I can't even begin to make a guess as to when the testing system was designed - perhaps something in the mesozoic era. You stand at a booth and sit through the equivalent of a slide show. There's a video screen set into a desk, and what sounds suspiciously like a slide projector underneath it projects a picture with a question on it onto your screen. You have three buttons to push to indicate your response (and not anything so cool as touch-sensitive buttons on the screen itself, nosir, these are the kinds of buttons you find only on really old elevators in your grandmother's condominium - big black knobby monstrosities which you have to push in about 2 inches before they register, and when they register it’s even odds as to your getting the shit shocked out of you) and a button to push (same kind) to signify that you pushed one of the other buttons and meant it.

Why the second button, I asked?

Because, they told me patiently, in case you changed your mind.

There're only three, I pointed out, how much room for error do I really need here?

Well, I was informed, some folks don't do very well and we like to give 'em the benefit of the doubt.

Anyway, should you get one of the questions wrong, the machine emits a loud thumping sound, the entire thing shakes, and the bottom part of the screen falls away (literally - I think this is what the thumping noise is - the bottom part of your screen hitting the ground - they must raise it back up again with a piece of twine or something) to reveal the correct answer. As it turns out, I got two out of 20 wrong – enough to pass the test.

The first one I got wrong was, "What is a safe distance to follow another
vehicle?" My choices were :

a) 1 second behind the leading vehicle
b) 2 seconds behind the leading vehicle
c) 100 feet behind the leading vehicle

Well, since this was a subjective question, not a law question, I figured I couldn't get it wrong so I pushed c) , since it was the only actual distance listed in my three choices, the other two being lengths of time and not at all relevant to the question. Turns out that their answer is: b) two seconds. After the test I pointed out that :

  1. the quesiton was a matter of opinion and not, therefore, a proper question for a driving LAW test,

  2. there's no mention of conditions of the road or the speed I'm driving, all of which are factors, and 2 seconds can't possibly cover the entire spectrum of possibilities, even if it were a distance, and

  3. the question asked for a distance, not an amount of time and therefore the only right answer had to be the only distance listed

"Uh-Uhn," the clerk lady type said, "then why is the distance between stars and stuff called a light-year?"

Hiding my amazement that she had ever heard of a light-year in the first place, I explained the concept to her and then asked for a calculator so I could show her exactly how many feet a light-year was. That was when she lost interest in the topic and got a little miffed. They promised to make note of my objections. I decided not to tell them that I come from a big city where, no matter the conditions, you follow less than 1 car-length from the guy in front of you so some other asshole can't cut you off.

The other one I missed related to an Indiana driving law that specifies (in actual feet, not in seconds) exactly how far ahead of your turn you must turn on your indicator. They've made this a law. My choices were :

a) 50 feet
b) 100 feet, or 200 feet for faster driving, such as freeway or speedway
c) whenever

You think I'm making this up. I'm telling you the truth.

My answer was 50 feet. I figured since they had probably put so much detail into the b) thing that was probably right, but since it was my last question, and I had only missed the other one about the following distance, I went with a) 'cause that's generous for most Atlanta drivers, who go with c) most of the time themselves, if they turn them on at all.

Other questions on the Indiana Driver's License Test:

(picture of a "Do Not Enter" sign, which, in case you haven't seen one
lately, says in big red letters "DO NOT ENTER" on it)

This sign means :

a) Do Not Enter
b) Yield
c) You may safely ignore this sign


Not to be outdone:



(picture of a speed limit 40 sign)

When you see this sign you may travel :

a) 45 miles an hour
b) 40 miles an hour
c) out of state drivers do not have to obey speed limit signs

(you haven't any idea the desire I had to push "c", hoping against hope
it would be true)


Lastly:


(picture from the rear of a car passing another car, halfway between the two lanes & straddling the center line, which, coincidentally, is solid on his side, also with the wrong turn signal on)

The solid line on your side of the lane means:

a) You may pass at will
b) Do not pass
c) You are on the wrong side of the road

I burst out laughing at both this one and the Do Not Enter one, prompting a few disgruntled looks from the visitation clerks in my direction - in my mind I kept picturing some poor guy leaning out of his window and yelling out at the cars passing by him going the other way "You're on the wrong side of the roadja damn fool!!"


As a postscript, there are two errata which I am compelled to report:

  1. The place actually is the DMV. I read the sign wrong as I first walked in and thought of it wrongly the rest of my days in Indiana.
  2. When I asked the clerk when I first walked in about why the place was called the BMV and not the DMV I was not corrected, but was instead given the above explanation of Visitation as opposed to Bureau (I guess I asked the question convincingly enough that the clerk assumed I was, in fact, correct), and to this day I am loathe to admit that this is not its actual name.

Friday, August 26, 2005

When Salad Gets Boring

While at lunch yesterday and for no reason I can think of, one of the famous ethics questions popped into my head:

If you could have sex with anyone in the world, and nobody would ever know, and they'd never remember it, would you?

And then the follow up:

What if you would never remember it?

It then occurred to me, holy shit, I might have been taken advantage of hundreds, even thousands of times, and I'd never know it! Maybe I've even taken advantage of thousands of other people - I don't know, I CAN'T REMEMBER!!!! What kind of MONSTER am I?!?!

I then devolved into a fit of giggling, which I'm certain made the table next to me pretty nervous. Maybe even the people sitting at the table, too, but they were harder to read.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

I love a good story, especially when I get to tell it. What sometimes gets me in trouble is that I tend to like a good story more than I like a true story. One look at the books on my shelf will confirm this beyond possibility of contradiction – Isaac Asimov, G. G. Kay, Robert Jordan, Ursula K. LeGuin, all of them prevaricators to one extent or another. This particular personality trait usually manifests itself in a tendancy to… oh, call it elaborate on actual events in order to make a better story out of them, regardless of whether or not the events as they transpired were plenty entertaining enough on their own merit. Sometimes life gives us stuff that needs no embellishment at all. Sometimes, however, the embellishment is the story.

The title of this blog is “The Atlanta Chronicles”, a nod to the 4 years Wanda and I spent in Bloomington, IN while she worked on her doctorate, during which I would occasionally write a missive to the folks back home relating the things which were happening to us. These missives are collectively known as The Chronicles - contained therein are some really, really good stories. Some of them are even true. I will begin to post these stories on the sidebar of this blog, in addition to new ones that come along in the meantime. This weekend I will post two of my favorites:

  • Benjamin versus the Bloomington DMV, from the original Chronicles

  • Remote Control Terrorism, from actual events a few years ago

I will welcome your commentary on these pieces, as they will begin to shape, with any luck, the nucleus of an attempt to build a new career.

This computer stuff, it’s for the young-uns.

P.S. – If any of you have original Chronicles e-mails squirelled away (I have no idea why you would, but some of you are pack-rats, I know it), I would love copies of them – my entire archive of Indiana e-mails has gone missing, which fact I find monumentally alarming.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

BTW

Oh yeah, it's our 11th year and four month wedding anniversary.  HAPPY ANNIVERSARY SWEETIE!

The Lack of Hormones, or the Hormonally Challenged

Just this morning as I was watching the Today Show (yes, that dreaded piece of fluff), I imagined holding our child and saying, “Your Daddy and I have been waiting six years for you to arrive…”  Wouldn’t you know it? I was overcome with tears and even as I’m typing my eyes fill with tears of longing.  So many women have the privilege of complaining about their pregnancies because they have never known the depth of disappointment and heart break that we’ve endured.  Sometimes I want to scream at them.  Wake up you ^&@%#)(‘s!  Stop taking your reproductive prowess for granted!  Look at how easily you created LIFE!  Stop complaining, you ungrateful turds!  I guess without estrogen I get a bit…aggressive.

Saturday, August 20, 2005

The Wonders of Medical Menopause

For those of you unawares (and that can only mean some poor soul has wandered into this site from out in the void - welcome!), Wanda and I have been trying to make babies for many years now. We have always wanted a large family, at least 4 kids, but so far nothing. We've had all manner of medical intervention, including 3 failed rounds of in-vitro fertilization. As you might imagine, this has proven to be something of a downer.

We have now entered the world of chemical warfare on infertility. All of our treatments in the past have been positive treatments, that is, they were designed to encourage Wanda's body to produce eggs for fertilization and to then also make it a safe harbor for the fertilized zygotes in the hope that they will implant and become viable fetuses. Our current, and final, treatment can only be described as the nuclear option. She's taken 3 monthly injections now of Depot Lupron, a chemical designed to eradicate any trace of hormones in her body, effectively putting her into artificial menopause.  Yes, that menopause.  Hot flashes (power surges, Wanda calls them), headaches, and Wanda's new favorite conversational ice-breaker, vaginal dryness.  The hope is that 3 months of hormone starvation will kill off, at least temporarily, the endometriosis which has been the culprit in our infertility woes. Once this treatment is done, we wait for her to have her next cycle, and then we take one last stab at in-vitro, harvest as many eggs as we can, and then hope for the best.

It's not an easy road, and I must admit that I have mighty feelings of hero-worship for Wanda, who takes all of this in stride; the constant poking (depot lupron and progesterone (which is suspended in sesame oil, I swear to god!) are injected into the ass with a VERY long needle), while the egg-producing Follistim is injected into the abdomen or thigh with a micro-fine needle TWICE DAILY), and prodding (weekly and then daily ultrasounds as the treatment progresses), endless visits to the doctor, to the drug store, all of it in the name of making a baby that is half me, half her. If any of you people out there had the slightest bit of doubt before, let it be known throughout the land now :

Wanda is a stupendous badass. She's more of a badass than you, more of a badass than me (and I'm a pretty stupendous badass myself), than all of us.    

Like Sands of the Hourglass...

For those of you familiar with the Chronicles as a whole it will not come as any surprise to you that many moons have passed since this the first posting. This is the way things tend to run with me, so learn to like it.

This blog serves two purposes - it lets me and Wanda vent about shit, and also it serves as a companion blog to our dear friend Megan, who recently moved to the west coast and who also happens to be a dramaturg of some note. Some of you know I harbor not-so-secret aspirations to someday finish a book (I have two in the works, but very, very dormant), and so the other thing this blog is intended to accomplish is to get me writing regularly again. You'll see more and more stuff crop up here as I put down on... er... bytes some of my favorite stories. Megan and I will also be giving each-other writing assignments, the manner and form of which has not yet been decided. Watch this space closely.