Did you know that having a damaged license can ruin your day continuously if not corrected? It’s true, I have learned this for myself the hard way in recent months.
It first began on a Thursday night, a night that seemed harmless. I, like most UT students, was out with a group of my friends and driving back to campus on Kennedy Blvd.
Out of nowhere, a police car appeared behind me with his lights flashing, signaling for me to pull over. I was flabbergasted as to the reason for this since I was doing nothing wrong.
When the officer approached me, he asked if I knew why I had been pulled over, to which I responded that I didn’t. He claimed that he had been pacing me going 55 miles an hour, an assertion with which I immediately disagreed. The officer asked for my license, and I retrieved it from my wallet and handed it to him.
The officer immediately exclaimed “Why is your license missing a corner like that?” I told him it had bent over time and eventually broken off. He was having none of this and told me that it was unlawful for me to have an imperfect driver’s license and that he should write me a fine just for that. When the officer went back to his car, he must have had some sort of revelation, because when he returned, he gave me a warning (for what, I’m not sure) and sent me on my way.
Now this one isolated incident could have been easily ignored, if it were not for the fact that it was part of a series of similar occurrences whenever my driver’s license was needed for verification.
The most recent instance of license abuse took place at my friendly local purveyor of alcohol.
I had innocently decided to purchase a six-pack of my favorite barley-based beverage to consume safely in the privacy of my Straz apartment without any minors present. Upon reaching the cash register, the courteous store clerk asked to see my I.D., which I happily produced.
As soon as she saw it however, her eyes turned to glowing red orbs and she transformed into a Medusa-like creature, snakes and all.
She ripped the card from my hand, said, “I’ll need to make a copy of this!” and ran away from the counter. The first thing that came to mind, aside from her temperament resembling that of a female dog, was “what could she possibly need a copy of my license for?”
I couldn’t figure it out. Did she make copies of the I.D.’s of all the young men that she liked for some perverse reason? Or could it be that I hadn’t shaved recently and she mistook me for a militant terrorist with an interest in micro-brewed beer? It was baffling!
I then looked up and noticed that she had gone to speak to what I could only assume is her supervisor and was shrieking angrily while motioning to my poor, damaged license.
She then returned to the register and proclaimed to the world “I can’t accept this license because it’s missing a piece,” followed by a series of evil laughs. I immediately ran from the premises before she could kill me with her death stare.
Here’s what I’d like to know about the entire predicament: how does a missing piece of plastic with no important information on it make my identity less real? Is it more feasible for me to have an unblemished license that declares me to be a 35 year-old man from Hell, Michigan named Lucifer?
I don’t think so.
I can understand that it’s important to do the best of your ability to keep your driver’s license in one piece and readable, I’m not arguing that. What I am willing to argue is that you can’t tell me that a missing corner makes you unable to identify me as a 21-year-old white male, who according to the state of Florida is a safe driver.
You will all be happy to know that I am in the process of getting a new driver’s license in the hopes that I may again become a normal functioning citizen. Unfortunately, since The Minaret never sleeps, I hardly have time to sit in the Department of Motor Vehicles and get one. I’ve instead ordered it from the DMV’s web site and it should arrive in 6-12 weeks. Gotta love the Internet, bro!