Who came up with the idea of licensing things?
I am sure it could only happen in a capitalist climate. A way to keep track of someone or something and generate income doing so.
I am writing about licenses because the mean, racist old lady at the Ohio Bureau of Motor Vehicles sent me home twice to retrieve what she kept saying was “proper documentation according to the State of Ohio.”
Oh really, asshole? I thought you would want proper documentation for the country of Qatar.
She would not accept my birth certificate because it had imprints of my tiny little baby feet (they were so cute!) which did not fly. So I found my original birth certificate which I spoke about in a previous blog…..white boy. Then I made the mistake of trying to explain our situation (i.e. moving out here, need new driver’s license…) in a rational way.
Off I go, threatening this bureaucratic nitwit to never get an Ohio driver’s license (that should show them!). Like she gives a shit……about anything!
Years ago, on a snowy winter night in Toledo, my license was imperiled when I accidentally rear-ended a police car which had pulled over to the side of the road.
This idiot, on a snow-blind night, pulled to the side of the road and his lights were not visible to man nor beast. I had just returned from a gig where my band was playing. It was three in the morning and I was headed home to Karen and a litter of newborn Cocker Spaniel puppies.
Twelve little furballs of love.
I am a quarter mile away, within sight of my house when I turn a corner and being the expert driver I considered myself, moved over to the right lane as I made a curve in the road.
I hit the police car at about 50-55 mph and I knocked it up onto the curb about twenty feet before my vehicle spun to a stop.
My story was that the police car did not have any lights displayed and that, combined with the hampered visibility, was why this collision occurred.
Any reasonable person could see that it was an unfortunate, yet very avoidable accident caused by the negligent officer of the law. I was even trying to give a well thought-out legal explanation of the situation to the burly white patrolman.
But was I listened to?
Of course not.
I was given field sobriety tests (three of them so they could really get a good handle on the level of my impairment) and failed each one miserably.
They didn’t want to hear any of my ramblings or legal rants.
They didn’t care that I was a good churchgoing Catholic boy that loved animals and his fellow man. That I would go to the grave protecting my wife and puppies.
They could give a damn that I give to charities generously and that I volunteer as a youth football coach and have been a Big Brother to underprivileged kids.
All they cared about was the 2.25 I blew on the breathalyzer.