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One of my most indelible memories of our move to Concord 16 years ago is of the exchange I had with an officer at the driver's license bureau in Kannapolis.
I wanted an N.C. driver's license, as I knew then that I surely would live here a long time, if not the rest of my life.
“Address?” the officer asked in a no-nonsense voice.
I gave the street number. I named the town.
“This is not the North,” she said, interrupting me. “Con- cord. Not Con- quered.”
“Yes ma'am,” I said meekly.
There's a lot to learn in this world.
Over the years, I've gone back to that same squat building in Kannapolis to get said license renewed.
It was ridiculous, but the stern faces I met reminded me of schoolteachers whose names I have long forgotten but whose expressions of disapproval I recall with utter precision. It didn't matter who sat near me at sanitized, no-nonsense desks. I'd get nervous about the smallest things, drop my pencil, stammer out names of signs.
A couple of weeks ago, I was back again. A pleasant-looking blond woman came in about the same time, and we sat quietly on the plastic chairs waiting for The Exam. Later, we sat together on the wooden chairs waiting for The Picture.
“Why do I get so afraid when I come here?” she asked me. “I feel like a little kid.”
Another lady came in. To my surprise, I recognized her – a former co-worker from years back. I waited while she took her test and picture so we could catch up.
“Are you waiting for something?” an officer asked suspiciously, clearly worrying that I was loitering in the office and possibly Up To No Good.
On the way home, I spoke to my husband, Ralf, about the experience. (I was too nervous to drive.)
“Maybe if the community brought freshly baked cupcakes and tea to them every day, they would be happier,” I suggested.
“I think they are trained to be that way,” Ralf said. “Or maybe it comes from having to say the same things to people every single day. “Read lines one through four,'” he said sternly. “'Do you have your Social Security card?'”
I thought about it. I have been teaching college students for more than a quarter-century. Every semester, I tell them their love lives, travel plans and social obligations will not excuse absences from class. I write the words “no makeup tests will be given” in all caps on my syllabi.
Nevertheless, a student recently e-mailed me to tell me her parents had bought her tickets for Disney World. She would miss our first exam. She wanted a makeup exam.
Those firm faces at the license bureau? Those people ain't got nothin' on the Barbara Thiede who sits grim-faced at her computer, typing e-mails to students who seem neither to read nor to listen.
Well. There's a lot to learn in this world.
Freelance writer Barbara Thiede: barbara.thiede@earthlink.net.
