Had to go to the DMV to renew my driver’s license. Pick a number and wait until you’re called.
I got the best number ever.
When the lady finally called the number out, I was watching. Her expression was priceless. It was the polar opposite of mine; she looked as though she’d lost some game that DMV clerks play. She hated that number and was loathe to call it out, but she had to. After watching this brief resignation and fear play out across her face and in her body language, she forced herself to look bored and to say the number as though it was just another number, and not a number whose unique properties gave it a whole ‘nother meaning.
Since I had been flirting with the cute blonde sitting across from me, with my secret knowledge of the number resting in my pocket, I knew that a braver man would have played up having gotten this number, out of all possible numbers.
I wanted to hold the number aloft, and shout as though I had won some lottery (as, indeed, in a small way, I had), and strut, boldly, saying with pride and enthusiasm the number over and over again. “Yes, yes, that’s me. I’m the one. I’m next. You, the awesome girl with the curly hair, have you heard? I have this number. If you’d like to share in my good fortune, perhaps after our sojourn in this dreary place of paperwork and bureaucrats, we could escape to another place to discuss luck, and numbers, and how they interact.”
Alas, I only approached the counter as I normally do, with a half-grin on my face, as if I knew many things but could not share them lest I break through to the other side.
Because this license is good for eight years, when next I renew it I will be a half-century old.
Which connects with the fact that for the past six months I’ve been growing my hair as long as possible – so that I may immortalize this look, this full head of hair look, for the next 2922-some days.