The Driver's License Woes of Donna Talarico

I have a license to drive. Had one since I was 16. In fact, I wrote a memoir chapter about the fateful day I managed to pass my driver's test, the day I drove us home from the testing center and ended up on the sidewalk and the day my mom drove us the rest of the way home.

I am also 21. I mean, I am actually 30. So, what this means is that I am old enough to drive and I am old enough to drink, even though those two things should never be done together.

So, let's talk about my recent driver's license woes. If you read my blog, you will recall a past driver's license issue. On Sunday, January 20th, seven months to the day from when Incident #1 this week happened, I blogged about the time a national chain restaurant located in Wilkes-Barre would not serve me because my license was cracked. I made a promise that I would get a new license. But six months passed, and since I have been busy working and writing and reading (for school), I just did not make my way to the local driver's license center. The closest I got to the driver's license center in Hanover Township was when I went to Nanticoke for a co-worker's birthday party. So, over the seven months, my cracked license got worse. It's faded, peeled and just a mess. In my blog post back then, I joked and said my license "expired" as a pun-- as in death, not as in the expiration date printed on the license.

So, a half year later, I plan to meet a bunch of co-workers and Wilkes friends at a local bar that has a great Sunday happy hour. I am the first to arrive, so this means it is my responsibility to reserve the table. This bar is not my regular bar, but over the past several months, I have been there for this Sunday happy hour, and the week prior, I was there with about 50 co-workers for a dual going away party. So anyway, the bouncer tells me he cannot let me in. I instantly think that he means it is because of my cracked license.

"Your license is expired," he says.

I think about this. I turned 30. That means I had a birthday on July 16th. Licenses expire every four years the day after your birthday. Shit. He would not let me in, but I pleaded my case with the manager, who did not recognize me but did remember the party the week before. He said I was being nice and said he could let me in on the condition I filled out a waiver and left my license at the front door. Great. I ended up having a wonderful night and was very thankful. Pays not to give people a hard time for doing their jobs, but at the same time, being able to do something that you are of legal age to do. However, one problem. I leave my cracked, expired license at the bar. The bar is closed on Monday and Tuesday. I have another co-worker's birthday to celebrate on Tuesday at a bar that I have only been to once. Crap.

Tuesday comes along. In the meantime, I tear apart the apartment looking for my camera card. Can't find it. I renew my license online and print it out. Thank goodness I had a passport from when I tried out for Survivor all those times. I have a valid photo ID, plus a temporary license, which is also valid when accompanied with your expired license, but figure I just have a few days until the new camera card comes and I can go get my new license. But....

We start at one bar on Tuesday night. I get in without a problem using my passport. Around 10pm, I drive just a few blocks, only on one street, to get to the second bar. Flashing lights. I get pulled over. Turns out I ran a red light-- not trying to. Just must not have been paying attention; probably texting. The cops asks for my license and registration.

Gulp. I would say this is bad luck, but really, it was good luck. He accepted by passport and temporary license. It took me a while to find the registation because Dave and I just traded cars and I never opened the glove box until this very moment.... the card was wrapped up in a napkin. Haha. The cop just told me to be careful. Whew.

So boys and girls- pay attention to the dates on your license. When a bouncer wants to hang on to your license, remember it when you leave, because the bar just may close for two days in a row. And just incase, get yourself a passport-- it can save your butt. (P.S. My license is still at the bar, in their cash register and it is Thursday. Guess I need to get it to turn into the center....)

My First Ticket

I've been know to live life in the fast-lane. However, I don't drive there.

I am a slow driver. People pass me all the time. People ride my ass all the time. In general, I think I piss other drivers off. I'm a 29-year-old grandma driver.

Yet, Wednesday morning, I was given my very first speeding ticket. It's like a life milestone. Your first tooth. Your first step. Your first word. Your first "time." Your first beer.

Your first speeding ticket.

It was my first day at our new location in Shavertown, so I took a different route to work. Work is now about 12 minutes closer for me because I don't have to go into Wilkes-Barre on the Cross Valley, or through all the lights on Wilkes-Barre Boulevard. I have a short-cut that I can take which leads me right to the road my new office is on.

My first day going to my new workplace. I am driving on Sutton Road in Shavertown, which has some gorgeous houses. I dream of living on this road, actually. So, 1) I was extremely hungover. 2) I was in la-la land and 3) I was starting at houses, left and right. Next thing I know, I see flashing lights-- no siren though.

I do a double-take because I thought these lights must be intended for someone else, but I realize that I am the only car on the road, so I pull over.

I was quite embarrassed because if you are a regular reader of this blog, then you will know about my letter to the editor a few months ago-- about speeders and terrible road conditions on Route 118. So, I tell the cop this, as well as the story about it being my first day. I still got a ticket. $164. I was nice, polite, didn't object or anything. It is what it is. He was doing his job, and I was now late for mine.

48 in a 25.... yikes. That's almost double, a co-worker pointed out to me. It didn't feel like I was going fast. Maybe since the road is hilly and curvy, I was caught while I was coasting? I don't know.

I wanted to say to him, "Oh thank goodness you got me this morning because I was shit-faced when I drove home from Hops last night..." but I didn't think that he'd think it was funny. Haha. I sort of wondered if my breath still smelled like alcohol. I read Tucker Max, I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell, and he actually had his own breathalizer and was still reading drunk the next morning. I mean, I doubt I was, but it was a funny thought to actually get a DUI the next morning on your way to work.

And, as Murphy's Law would have it, I did win a Spiff at work-- $100! Collected it that same morning, which was quite comical. Last time I won on the slots (five years ago), my car broke down, so as Donna Luck would have it, win money- something happens to my car, or in this case, my driving.