I'm legal...

So yesterday was D-day...or DL-day to be more accurate. I finally plucked up enough courage to go sit my Illinois drivers license, something all foreigners have to do after 3 months entering the country (don't do the math....lots of illegal time there and M not very happy)
I really hate tests and I flubbed my written and oral exam the first time ( in 1984 ohmygod) as I'd change my mind every time I'd answer a question and get it wrong.
At this point I'd like to thank the horrendous weather last Thursday that had me circling Cincinnati airport for an extra 1.5hours...allowing me some more road code swotting time)
They tell you to get down to the DMV 15 minutes prior to the door opening and sure enough, 20 people were already there. If you come into the state from other states or change your address you have to renew your license, but no tests. Old wrinklies also have to resit after a while.
The DMV is a nice slice of culture...with lots of good people watching while you while away the (luckily) minutes of waiting in queues...see the large lady with very tan legs, inappropriate short skirt and biiiig hair...see the goatee gentleman retesting his 3 wheel trike...with a marijuana t-shirt...yup, they're really going to pass you with that on mate.
So I go through the first queue, 50 assorted documents in hand...get a number and wait for the second desk person. He checks the docs, makes sure I'm really happy how my name is spelt and makes me stick my head in a hood to read some lines and check for flashing lights...think that's peripheral vision.
He also asks me what weight I want to have on my license (why the @#$% to they need that...if I get too big am I not allowed to get in a car...is it for better estimating which organs might be better to take in a fiery crash?) The temptation to drop a few pounds instantly is overwhelming, but I surrender my true weigh (like I'm going to tell you guys) and we consult a wee chart to work out what 1.71cm equates to in feet and inches.
Then I go to the cashier and hand over $10.00...what a bargain. The last 'lifetime' licence I had in NZ was $45 and i can't remember what I paid in the UK for the privilege of handing over my NZ one for a UK one, but it was waaaay more than $10.00
Then off to a wee booth to press the screen and do the written test..only fluffed 2...what do the flashing red lights at the traffic lights mean (not emergency vehicles approaching BTW, but the same as a stop light), and what do you do if your wheel goes up a curb when you are driving along the road...Hell, I've got a 4 wheel drive Toyota behemoth...i might not even notice it happened. Apparently you slow down and steer back, not just steer back.
With my 93% and a jubilant heart I went outside to bring my car around for the practical. The tester looked like a spitting image of Debra Jo Rupp from the 70's show...and we proceed to have a great girly chat about how much she liked my car, accent, driving (thank god) and how people drove in NZ and how I came to be here ...and in-between I turned, stopped, turned, drove forward, with one eye on the speed limit, lots of conspicuous looking at front and side mirrors and the gentlest breaking I could imagine. I think she might have been too busy to mark me, but I seemed to have passed...and with an even lighter heart I sat in the last queue, got my picture taken (marginally better than the UK one, least I remembered to put lippy on) and 1 hour and 15 minutes after i first entered the door i skipped out proudly clutching my nice new piece of plastic.
And would you believe it, as I sat in the car at work, reaching for my handbag, ready to get out., the loser parked opposite me slipped his foot off the break and kissed my car with his bumper...only the plate was slightly buckled, along with his pride and the coffee cup he was holding, which had distributed itself all-over his pant..huh - that'll teach you to mess with someone with a brand new license.