On bureaucrats January 15 - 21, 2001 license to hassle, fun with sea otters, and trip to Point Lobos

	From our Sunday trip to Point Lobos

A government office clerk is a strange animal. It is interesting that this creature can be found without any genetic or behavioral deviation anywhere in the world. I'd like to tell you - as you may have guessed - about DMV.

Last time I got involved with DMV (California Department of Motor Vehicles), on December 22. I did not write about it then because I did not want to poison my Christmas mood by it. Remembering my "driving test" always got me dangerously close to hysterical fit, combined with a stroke.

It all began with me arriving at an DMV office, by an appointed hour. They let me wait for a while, then beckoned me to test my driving. I asked where I should go, and a bored clerk told me to drive around the building. I understood only after walking out. There was a line of cars around the place, ending under a roof on poles (like at a gas station).

Cars in front of me kept crawling forward, one at a time, under that roof, where (after a while) an official approached it. A funny scene followed, with much light flashing, horn honking, and arms waving, then the official got into the car, which departed from its spot under the roof and the whole line jerked forward one car length.

	... still Sunday trip ...

So I kept hopping forward, until I got under the roof, pulled down my window and waited. Suddenly, a voice hollered from behind my head: "Papers!" It got me quite startled as I did not expect him FROM BEHIND. I turned and read his tag Simon Yu, and when I almost disjointed my neck, I saw a face just like from One flew over cuckoo's nest (I mean the unmoving face of the Indian chief). He barked at me his commands regarding lights and turn signals, I missed his meaning a few times (did you ever try to catch a single syllable command in a foreign language, especially when you never used words like "emergency brake" in that language). Once he stuffed himself into Cecilia (it is really not a big car), I tried to ease the tension explaining that I did not understand him much. He did not respond and instead began to recite something quickly (he enumerated what will happen next as he was probably bound by regulations), with a strong Asian accent. I gave up my efforts to communicate, nodded once and hoped that he did not just ask me if I intended to assassinate the president or smuggle drugs.

Then we took off. Out of the parking lot, right around a corner. Right around another corner. Around another right corner. Right into the parking lot. It all took less than three minutes (there was no traffic, only one light, one pedestrian, whom I gave way nicely, one stop sign).

I parked like a pro (I even pulled the hand brake, which they require here ... it never freezes down here), he threw papers into my lap and started getting out. I felt like an idiot, so I asked him what was going on and what I was supposed to do. He said that I failed for not sufficiently looking over my right shoulder and attempted to slam the door. I dared to ask what next and he told me to go away.

I was sitting there like being hit by a sledgehammer, but of course, anybody can by dumped for not "sufficiently" twist her neck, anytime, anywhere. What kept me clueless was his manners. Somehow I got used to being greeted with a smile everywhere (even by a person at a register in a store), and if I don't understand, then people consider smiling nicely some more and asking me where I'm from and how I like it here. A Latino guy at Safeway always adds a conspiratorial wink "come again, Mrs. Paral". An now -- such rudeness.

At home Sid told me that according to some statistics, no-one (in fact, a negligible minority) passes through the driving test for the first time, and so I scheduled another appointment on January 18 in Santa Teresa.

Meanwhile, Christmas and everything else passed by.

This week started with eLKa, the author of our favourite chat room (Invisible Dog Coffee Shop, Czech language only) allowed me to download his beautiful smileys for our journals. In proper time you will probably meet with all of them, but for now an example of my most favourite:

Tuesday, I finally got myself out to the climbing gym. For last two weeks I've been laying around home with a flu. I craved for climbing like a little brat for matches. Alfy managed to complete his class of leading routes in those two weeks, so we could just delve into it. But after not climbing for three weeks my muscles felt like rags and in no time my forearms turned into sausages of unseen proportions. Well, still it felt so good to be moving again!

Wednesday, a sad e-mail arrived from Prague. My friend Peta wrote that Filip Silhan died during skialpinism in Alps. I hoped for a while that it was a joke, but unfortunately it was not. I still did not get to read December issue of Montana (a Czech climbing magazine) with his article on climbing in Mozambique -- and when I finally get to read it, it will be with the knowledge that it was his last one. We used to meet on the wall, at the races, on rocks and in pubs, simply everywhere climbers go -- now there's a hole among us -- we miss him.

Thursday was another DMV day. That naturally did not improve my mood. I simply needed this American driver license! One uses it as an identity card, I could cease dragging my passport with me that all the clerks regard as something they never encountered before.

Well I found on a map where Santa Teresa is (DMV is all networked and it makes no difference, which actual branch you use for which part of the test), it seemed easy -- take 280, switch to 85 south, in south San Jose catch the ramp to Santa Teresa Boulevard. I guessed it would take forty minutes.

Well you can guess, too... a ramp from 85 to the boulevard made me so confused that I only regained some sense of direction on another ramp to 87 north. I had no other choice than to wade through heavy traffic towards the next exit and then U-turn. I did not miss the right ramp the second time and in a moment rolled down Santa Teresa.

The DMV branch is hidden in an alley, Martinvale. I found that, but I had to drive up and down three times before I registered a tiny gray sign saying "DMV Entrance". Result? I was at the door at 1:40, exactly the moment I was scheduled for the driving test.

Still I had to wait in a line to an information counter, because everything at DMV is chaotic and people wait in maddening lines everywhere - last thing I needed was waiting in a wrong line. More waiting followed, in a line to driving test entry. The clerk was pleasant like crumbs in bed sheets, but they all are at the DMV. I still don't know if inhospitality and permanent frown are basic requirements for job acceptance, or it is simply so that these gloomy, abrasive people would not find a job anywhere else (any private employer or customer would kick them out).

I apologized elaborately for coming late and tried to cheer her up by describing my traffic confusion, but I would have probably had better luck making that box laugh which sat there at her right hand.

	This time Sid took my picture before I started to make faces

She said (the box kept to itself ) that next time they would cancel my spot in the appointment list, but for this time.... and grabbed my paperwork. I shivered with excitement at this unbelievable magnanimity (imagine waiting for a next appointment for a whole other month... ). She responded to hearty thanks with a dry "Wait here till we call you." Immediately after that, another clerk stepped out and yelled: "Appointments for one oh clock ... Santiago, Jose, Juanita!" And it was clear where this liberality came from: the DMV was "slightly behind" the times, the clock only showed two ten.

I gathered all my patience and only cursed myself for not being foresightful enough to bring a book. I passed the time then observing my comrades in suffering. A father with a daughter (sixteen year old kids may drive here if their parents warrant it), a mother with a daughter, a mother with a son, three fat ladies, one chivalrous Indian (he was trying it on the clerks, being about as successful as I was), two pretty girls, a threadbare old man with a cigar behind his ear, and his companion - a funky guy right out of the seventies (mustache, long hair, high heel boots) - he reminded a little of Benny of ABBA, simply an unbelievable collection... yes, besides me, the Indian and the little girl with her mom there were all Latinos.

	Left top: sea otter, right bottom: a bird marching on a log

It was half past three when they finally called me -- I got permission to drive around the building -- and waited about another hour in the car. It was more comfortable as I could sit inside my Cecilia (such effective office like DMV obviously DOES NOT NEED chairs) and listen to radio.

	One sea otter is looking at us, the other one is sleeping

I watched the "business" in front of me -- only one geezer in a baseball cap and a young black woman gave the test, one every fifteen, twenty minutes, so it dragged on. Sometimes another employee helped them out, going through the flashers and honking moves with drivers.

I got tested by a SMILING woman (either an exception from the rule, or a temporary help), who asked me trick questions like where my windshield wipers were and where would I turn a window defroster on (quite useless in California).

Then the geezer in a baseball hat hopped in and off we were. He said that the test would take fifteen minutes; I think that because of the rush hour it eventually took a little longer. Besides various turning, driving around schools (different speed limits apply), driving through an unmarked intersection, changing lanes, turning right on red (which is allowed here, if you execute a full stop and yield to traffic), I had to show him that I knew how to back up.

The geezer kept a conversation with me, he pointed it out at an intersection if I stopped too close to the car ahead of me; I assured him that I totally agreed and I shared his concerns and that I would think about it next time and -- he let me pass. Hallelujah tell it on the mountain, I passed and got the LICENSE! Leaving DMV at 5:30 p.m., I was home around six ... it all took little over five hours!

Now somebody please start complain about the Prague analog office with chairs, refreshments, numbers to keep the sequence (so you can estimate how many people are before you and when you are going to be called), a newspaper stand and a post office branch!

	Point Lobos coast... romantic, wouldn't you say?

Finally I started believing Sid with his statistics -- otherwise somebody please explain why they took only three minutes to kick me out from the first ride, with a feeble reasoning, while I passed the second time although I drove through the afternoon rush hour and had to prove much knowledge and many skills. So I think that DMV needs to account for some spending by showing activity and it does so by having people repeat tests.

	Sea otters sleep anchored in kelp

By the way, one thing is interesting here - I never saw any line cheating, there are no seasoned "queue sliders", who would always "only want to ask about something", or who would provocatively moan and stagger and sway. Everyone waits as they come, and that's that, at the post office, at the DMV, at a hospital... and most importantly, everybody's taking it easy, and because of lack of cheating there are no dramatic scenes or pushing.

On Saturday, we climbed with Sid at Planet Granite (Santa Clara). Sid was climbing there for the first time, he had to pass a belayer's test. Considering his talkativeness, it looked like this: an unfortunate gym employee was to listen to a poker-faced Sid, who lectured him for twenty minutes on climbing safety. The clerk was rendered speechless (so he actually did not ask anything ) and Sid passed.

He was not as good on the wall, he has not been climbing for four weeks and in addition to that he just bought new climbing shoes that made his feet hurt (one buys climbing shoes one or two or three sizes smaller).

	Sea lion family

On Sunday, we drove down to Point Lobos, a state natural preserve on the ocean coast south of Monterey. Radio promised us heavy surf, and time for whale watching was slowly approaching.

	... and at the full moon, where broken limb of an ancient oak throws its shadow, dig half a fathom ... rich shall ye become ... Stevenson's "Treasure Island" surrounds us ... he did not need that much imagination, did he?!

No whales showed up, but we spotted several sea otters in one of the coves. They were running their whole show. One swam on its back (their usual position) and waved a paw vigorously. Listening carefully, we could hear clicking -- it had a rock on its belly and banged a clam on it. As soon as it managed to crack and slurp the clam, it dove under the surface for the next one. Another otter was combing its fur and lazily wallowed next to its sleeping partner. We did not know why they were resting in a spot full of kelp, but later I read that they actually "tie" themselves to it (they wrap kelp twines around their body) so that they won't get carried away while they sleep.

When we felt sufficiently weathered, we sat in our car and extended our otherwise straight route home with a trip through Carmel Valley, and subsequently Salinas Valley. If you don't know what I'm talking about, then reach for Cannery Row and East of Eden by John Steinbeck. Carmel Valley begins with rich farmland and noble houses, the further away from ocean you go, the more deserted it looks, and the landscape changes from coastal oaks to dry, grassy hills (surrounding, however, a famous valley where Mac and his friends gathered frogs). On the Salinas Valley side, we drove through a narrow valley where six years ago a huge flood carried away homes and roads -- today it is just a dry river bed of Piney Creek, braided with a disarray of large boulders and torn banks. Farther down we passed through a large canyon (Arroyo Seco) and with the falling darkness reached Salinas Valley.

Our server, perpetually resetting itself, awaited us at home. The journal would have to wait for publishing a few nights...

We congratulate the winners of our little quiz, Krouli and Fido! I promise that I will send the prizes - beautiful postcard pictures - for sure tomorrow!

Copyright © 2001-2005 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.