Oh, hello there.

Today I was at Whole Foods buying overpriced, well, everything. Happily, because there's nothing I like better, frankly. Not the overpriced-ness of it all, but the Whole Foods-ness of it all. What can I say? I just like the aroma of virtue all up in there. The eggs. The sugar. The super-expensive vanilla paste. Happy happy happy.

Not my point, however. My point is this: I got to the cashier, loaded my precious commodities onto the conveyer belt, got the total and wrote a check (hi! I'm old.), whipped out my driver's license before the cashier could even ask for it, and then I heard, faintly, as I was putting my pen back in my purse, a voice say, "This is about to expire."

I was all, now what's that? and thought maybe that was some other cashier speaking to some other patron, the way you think, are you talking to ME? when you hear honking nearby when you're driving. I looked up at him. He had my driver's license between his thumb and finger, ready for me to pluck and stow. And I was all, Right. Dammit.

Because he's right: my driver's license is about to expire. Like, at the end of the month. When it is my birthday.

This set in motion a series of mental events:

1. Where is that stuff the D.M.V. mailed me three months ago?
2. Probably in my study.
3. --but where in my study, exactly?
4. Wait: do I have to take a test? Because I don't want to be taking no test.
5. Eeek, what about an eye test!?
6. What should I wear? The last time I got my license renewed, I had new badass boots. What now? What outfit and/or accoutrements will protect me in my hour of need?

...and so forth. 


Like the rest of America, I dread the D.M.V., the people. I'm pretty sure you know the reasons why:

1. crowded.
2. stressful.
3. possible failure putting a critical American survival ability in doubt.
4. what if my eyes have crossed over from just needing reading glasses to needing actual glasses? and I didn't even realize it?

...and so forth.

Well, onward. At least I got some work done today before the bureaucratic state intervened to loom all over my happy bourgeois activities. Leave me alone, bureaucratic state, while I make a frittata and sulk!

In which The Megastore is interpellated by an agent of the state.

Somewhere in Idaho. The Camry of Power pulls to the shoulder of the road because it is being hailed by the flashing lights of The Law.

HTMS: [fumbles in glove compartment for registration and insurance card. She knows what's coming, all right.]
Agent of the State: Good afternoon, ma'am.
HTMS: Hello, sir.
AotS: I clocked you going at 83 miles per hour as you exited a construction zone, and the speed limit was 65. Any reason you were going that fast?
HTMS: [she is shocked! shocked!] I think I completely missed that it was a construction zone. [Improbable, yet quite true.]
AotS: Well, the speed limit here is 75, so you were still going pretty fast. [pause, so that this truth can sink deep into the sinner's soul.] Can I take a look at your driver's license?
HTMS: Sure. [humbled.] Here it is.
AotS: And your registration and proof of insurance.
HTMS: Here's my . . . registration [so freaking many documents!] and . . . here's my insurance card.
AotS: [inspects documents. Carefully. The speeder might be a dangerous felon fleeing from a crime, in a Camry.] Where are you coming from today, ma'am?
HTMS: Salt Lake. [internal, heavy sigh.]
AotS: And what's your destination?
HTMS: The Indy 500? [this is a patent untruth. HTMS did not say "The Indy 500." Instead, she reported her actual destination, which is "Heaven on the Snake River," in eastern Idaho.]
AotS: [gives what passes for a smile among Agents of the State.] Okay, ma'am: can you make sure to pay a little more attention . . .
HTMS: [obsequious] Yes, sir.
AotS: . . . and if you set your cruise control at 75, that'll help you stay within the speed limit.
HTMS: [again, obsequious, as if this has never, ever occurred to her, and as if, in fact, she hadn't set her cruise control at 81 when she was hailed by Agent of the State in the first place.] Yes, sir!
AotS: [hands documents back to HTMS] You have a nice day, ma'am.
HTMS: Thank you, sir. You too, sir.

Analysis: Can you believe how many times I said "sir"? I am positive that I said "sir" about a million times. On the other hand, all that sirring produced an outcome of no ticket. A positive outcome, I'm sure you'll agree.

Conclusion: Humble + repentant + unsurly + say "sir" a lot = an encounter with The Law with no ill consequences. Also, as the PanOpticated girl I am, I did not speed for the remainder of the journey. Also, and you may have never thought of this, but if you set your cruise control for the actual speed limit, you probably won't speed! Think about it!

Indicators that my organizational strategies might not quite be working for me.

Today, I found myself at the Martha Hughes Cannon Building on North Temple, State of Utah Vital Records Department, ordering and paying for three copies (one for me, one for his dad, one for him while he's traveling) of my youngest child's birth certificate for something like the 6th time in his still rather short life.

But who's counting.