So me, my sweatpants and my file cabinet trooped back to the DMV (called MVA in Maryland, BTW) this morning.
I made it there before the doors opened and ended up ninth in the vehicle registration line. At the front of the line, the lady behind the desk told me that without a Maryland vehicle inspection certificate from a full service gas station, all my papers meant nothing.
"Fantastic." I thought as a walked over to try for a driver’s license. I plopped all my papers in front of the teller and was preparing to break into song (thanks, Cindy) when I was told that my utility bill, ALTHOUGH IT HAS MY NAME AND MARYLAND ADDRESS PRINTED ON THE TOP, does not count as proof of residency without the bottom tear away apart. "You mean the part that I mailed in with the check to pay the bill?" I asked. She nodded solemnly.
Defeated, I walked back in the rain to my car. And then sat in the car for a minute or two crying because nothing solves problems like uncontrollable sobs. On my way back to the freeway, I contemplated many things: driving into oncoming traffic, registering for law school so I could be considered a student and proposing to Paul and holding a shotgun wedding because surely things like this don’t happen to military wives.
During my fully rational thought process, I realized that my car which was once in the RED was now running on completely empty. Terrified of running out of gas and having to tell a cop I do not have a MD drivers license, I called 411 and asked if they knew where any gas stations were. (For future reference, they do not.) Figuring I might as well push my car on a street instead of a highway, I got off at the nearest exit and like magic a full service Shell station appeared.
One hour later, I walked out of the Shell with half a tank of gas and a $69.50 piece of yellow paper that said I was eligible for Maryland plates.
I drove back to the MVA with drier cheeks.
After lines and signatures and nervous laughter, I handed over my credit card, paid $216, and walked out with two of my very own pieces of pressed metal.
I still do not have my driver’s license. And I would be willing to let that go, but I HAVE to register to vote so I can elect someone cool for President this year. So next Friday, in the third and hopefully final chapter of Elise vs. the State of Maryland, I am bringing my hula hoop, tap shoes, Kleenex and my apartment lease.
enJOY it 
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