Adventures in NC Residency

This morning, I journeyed to the Drivers License Office. Not the DMV. The Driver's License Office.

Now, for starters, doesn't that sound like such a non-threatening, simple kind of place? DMV inspires anxiety and hatred. DLO sounds like it serves biscuits and gravy if you promise to become an organ donor.

I digress.

I have been to the DMV in three different cities in Indiana, all with a population under 100,000. Yet, in all three of these places, it was a requirement to either make an appointment well in advance or to get there right when they opened to get a good place in line.

With all this in mind, I left for the DLO around 7:45am this morning.

(The DLO is about 2 miles from my house, but in my true fashion, I got lost, passed it twice and angered Louise* in the process, so I got there right at 8am.)

There was one other person there.

We both went inside and took a number, but as soon as I sat down, a gentleman came out and said, "Y'all can come on back!"

Sure. Why not.

I was directed toward a heavy set fellow with the face of a giant carp. I didn't catch his name, so I named him Buford.

Buford and I sized each other up quite quickly. He seemed to find my Midwestern accent and excellent dental hygiene off-putting while I found his tone to be patronizing and his uniform to be ill-fitting.

At one point, I couldn't find my damn insurance card. I prepared myself to be chastised and turned away until I had the appropriate documents, but Buford just said, "Well, we kin give 'em a call later on."

Um, okay.

A few minutes later, a man came in looking for directions and I swear the following conversation took place:

Man: 'Z is uh tide office?
DLO employee: What're you lookin' fer?
Man: Tide office. 'Z it still here 'er git move?
DLO employee: Tide or tag?
Man: Tide. It git move?
DLO employee: 'S downtown, 'cross from the courthouse.
Man: Thankyamuchobligedtoyaferthenn;nnirrzy'allflhrhhreckon;iuh.

You betcha.

At the end of my test, I read off all the traffic signs and missed one, to which Buford replied, "Good enough."

Long story short, I got my NC driver's license.

Also, some Southerners seem to see good posture as a sign of aggression. So, the next time you're at a WaHo or a Zaxby's, try to slouch.

*Louise, my Garmin, will also be referred to as "Weezy" and/or "Giant Slut".