Dani Francisco Behind the WHEEL??

I got the California Drivers License Handbook a couple months ago. I had every intention of studying. Each time I flipped through it, I said to myself another time or I've had my drivers license for half my life, I know what the fuck I'm doing. In other words, I didn't study. If you are a California resident (which I became one a month or so ago) and you wish to drive legally in the state, you need a California drivers license...an out of state license will not suffice. With this in mind I decide to drive instead of take the bus like the responsible adult I came here as.

You must fill out the proper documentation, pay, AND get your picture taken before you even take the test. The clerk then needs my Massachusetts drivers license. I have 2 in my purse, but I want to keep them for sentimental values and reasons of vanity, so I claim that I lost them in the move across country. He then tells me that it's fine, I'll just have to make another appointment to take the road test only once I've passed the written test. Fuck that shit!

"Actually sir, I think I may have it in my purse after all!"

"Of course you do," with a smirk on his face.

In California they ask for your height, weight, eye and hair color. Here is how I answered:

Height: 5'4". I'm really 5'3.75" but I like to round up (or down) if it makes me prettier.

Weight: I make believe this says "weight you aspire to be".

Eye Color: Green. They are really hazel, but green is my favorite color.

Hair Color: Auburn. My first choices were "undecided", "mixed", "whatever the box says depending on the month". The clerk was slightly amused, but not a much as I was. Always the case.

I proceed to the next event which is taking the written exam. 36 questions. You are allowed to get 6 incorrect. You can take the test 3 times in one day, but I'm thinking I'll nail it the first time. I check off all the (wrong) answers and skip and whistle my way to the 'I'm going to correct your test while you watch in agony' clerk. She puts a big -10 in a big red circle.

"Is that the amount of points taken off, or how many I got wrong?"

"Same thing honey. Go study. NEXT!"

Study? STUDY?! In other words cram, because the handbook is eighty six fucking pages. And there are about 120 people in the room. Yeah, right.

Fuck-it-I-get-back-in-line-to-get-another-test. I go to the little cubicle and attempt to get 10 wrong answers again (and also to shush the assholes behind me who are talking about France. Twice.) By the time I return to the devil-horn wearing clerk, my answer sheet is soggy and crinkled and shaking and laced with hearts in an attempt to charm her. I flop my head down on the counter and cross my fingers so she can clearly see how tortured I am feeling at this critical moment. I hear another stamp, just like the first time. But this time the stamp read PASS!! Only 3 wrong!! I run out to the car, fire it up, and tear out of the parking lot with such joy in my heart, blasting Tone Loc on the radio, and getting slightly lost on the way home. Now when I drive 'Boston Crazy' around this city, I no longer have to worry about getting thrown out of California!!

Ps. Go ahead and comment that 10 wrong plus 3 wrong equals 13 wrong, which averages out to 6.5 wrong which is failing by .5 wrong.