I Don't Need No Stinkin' License

I don't need no stinkin' license.

There, I said it. 

92 pages of DMV handbook

I failed yet another driver’s test at the DMV today, my third. After spending the last two months studying the handbook that my sister Laura scored for me from the DMV, and failing again, I have decided I am not going to beat my head against that wall anymore

I have been driving for fifty-three years without either a citation for a moving violation or being in an accident. I don’t need to take a written test to prove I can drive. I have been doing that in reality for fifty-three years. I have only been pulled over once since I moved to Mendocino County in 1982 and that was for expired tags. So why do I need a driver’s license at all?

At least these mean
something to me.

Studying the handbook does not help when it comes to irrelevant trivia, such as the length of penalty for infractions, or blood-level stats for driving partially or completely inebriated. These kinds of details have no relevance to me and I can’t find a way to make them stick in my memory.

So many questions about light rail vehicles. I have no frame of reference. Are they buses? Trains? There aren’t any in Laytonville. 

As the divine Miss Bette Midler once said, “Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.” 

And I might add, I will make sure my tags are up to date.