So On My Birthday, I Discover I’m a Fugitive…

I hope everyone remembered to take today off in honor of the National Holiday that is my birthday. You’re welcome.

Some of my fondest birthday wishes from today include this one, from a total stranger on LinkedIn who has such a nice way with words:

My lovely birthday message from a LinkedIn connection.

My lovely birthday message from a LinkedIn connection.

And this one, from my friend Chrissy:

You had me at "wacky"...

You had me at “wacky”…

…as well as the lovely wishes from my “daughter” Cory, Marovich’s daughter, who deemed me her “2nd Mama” two decades ago.

I drove up to bucolic Woodstock, Illinois this afternoon–yes, home of the film Groundhog’s Day–to renew my driver’s license, which expires TODAY at midnight. Imagine my surprise when this woman…

Okay, she bore a STRIKING RESEMBLANCE to Roz from Monsters, Inc.

Okay, let’s just say the Illinois Department of Transportation representative  bore a STRIKING RESEMBLANCE to Roz from Monsters, Inc.

…informed me that I was, essentially, a fugitive…there was an outstanding speeding ticket from 2013 that I never paid, so there was no getting my license renewed today. I was mortified.

Marovich's favorite dismissive statement to me.

Marovich’s favorite dismissive statement to me.

To resolve this, I have to make a trip to the county courthouse on Monday, and then drive all the way back up to where Christ-left-his-Nikes-Woodstock. It’s a 12-hour time vampire. You’ve gotta love bureaucracy. And no, there’s no way to just pay this online or by phone (I tried) and rectify it easily.

I immediately saw red, because I have a strong suspicion as to how this happened. You see, Dave Dorman always offers to take my mail to the post office. (Dave Dorman’s Future Wife, pay close attention to what I’m saying here…) I’ve learned over time to refuse him, because I’ve discovered months-old paid bills, addressed and sealed in their envelopes, still lurking beneath his driver’s side seat alongside the fossilized McDonald’s french fries, on that rare occasion that I clean out his car. I am fairly certain my paid 2013 speeding ticket has taken up residence underneath his driver’s seat with some slutty ATM receipt and birthed a few dozen baby raffle tickets by now.

So…my Easter options are to drive with an expired license so I can play tennis with Marovich and give her the beating she SO deserves after last night’s racquetball game…or I can make Dave drive me over there and suffer through waiting for me to play a few games…or I can Uber there and back, albeit a rather costly endeavor just to play some free outdoor tennis.

Being the freedom junkie that I am, me without a driver’s license has a solid “Denise-loses-her-shit” moment written all over it. I pity Jack when it comes time to take away my car keys in my old age. Hillary getting her server (or her Presidential candidacy) taken away would go down more quietly.

So yet another life’s lesson learned–even when you’re so important that your birthday is a National Holiday, it means nothing to IDOT. Nothing at all.

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3 thoughts on “So On My Birthday, I Discover I’m a Fugitive…

  1. Denise, I did not realize your birthday is the same day as your Grandpa Follman. Sorry I missed it. But, this is HILARIOUS. Nobody could make this stuff up!

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