Maintaining Ties

In a time of ancient gods...or perhaps just ancient customers, it is in my best interests to maintain links to the UK. The US doesn't fully want me yet, or at least they don't know they do. They panic when I get a little too close, and demand "space."

Not to fret; I can be...persuasive *pops on little black number and a tango mix-tape*.

So I maintain these ties, through keeping a house over there, bank accounts, and of course a driving license. Said driving license expires on the 24th of this month. I don't have to do anything special to renew it, just mail back a form and a pretty picture of yours truly. No retaking test, or fancy jumping through hoops or anything like that, right. Right?

Wrong.

Well, half wrong. I don't have to retake the test. Which is a good thing, because I'm certain I'd get all confuzzled and forget which side of the road to drive on. I had a panic tonight as I realized I'd forgotten the British way of writing the date. Bah.

As it turns out, the Brits and Americans are once more two countries divided by a common language when it comes to passport photos. British dimensions are not quite as simple as their old 2 by 2 American counterpart. Not one, not two, but four stores I went to on my lunch hour today refused to accommodate such an unruly request. Finally, I sweet-talked my way into a JC Penney clerk's knickers. I mean, photography studio. *cough* I think I have a date on Friday.

Knowing that I don't have much time in which to organize all this (as a typical Greening, I have known the license was expiring for months, but am as usual late to the party), I race home and start filling out the forms. Second panic of the day: The D1 or the D798? Which one am I supposed to complete? Bah! Typical British, you wait months for a form, and two come along at once. So I narrow it down to the D1 (mostly because I had previously started to complete the D798 in blue ink, and that simply won't do), and start scribbling furiously. Finished, I read the checklist of items.

Check for £20
Green counterpart license
Photocard licence

Panic number three. £20? What's that in dollars? Does it matter anyway? The DVLA won't take an American check. Crap. Do I still have a British checkbook? By this point, Alice has flown into the bedroom and is hiding under the bed from her crazy Mum who is ransacking the study. Victory! Oh me oh my, I still have the good old HSBC checkbook. Can I remember how to complete an English check? Sod it, I'll fudge it.

Green counterpart license. OK, I've seen that somewhere. Recently. Ish. Like, within the last...four years? Balls. *ransack ransack* Huzzah! There it is in the filing cabinet, neatly filed under "Stuff." How accurate and quaint.

Photocard license. I've got this, no problem. Wait. Oh, that's just bloody marvelous. I simply had to go and get myself a new wallet a couple of months ago. A slimmer model. One that doesn't contain all the unnecessary "STUFF" that I don't use on a daily basis. Like my UK photocard license. Now...if you were an insane, famished British gal, where would you have put your old wallet? In a flash of godknowswhat, I remember that I think I heard it fall down the back of the dresser about a month ago. Why yes, there it is!

OK, it's 6:30pm. Into the car I run, off to locate the only post office within a fifty mile radius to stay open past 5pm on a weekday. Small aside: What the hell, USPS? People don't work? C'mon already. I arrive at the wee place, and...c'mon, if you had to guess people. You've been following this story. You know how it ends.

Ha, they weren't closed. Those who guessed 'closed,' go directly to jail and do not collect £200. Or $200. Or anything. Sorry, not feeling particularly generous today. BUT, they did have a new system in place.

"Damned computers," the woman behind the register mutters. "Don't know why we need them in the first place. So much simpler without." Right, yes dear, you're 100% correct, now hand over the keyboard and mouse and nobody gets hurt. What? Not supposed to utter those words in a federal building? Whoops.

Together, we fuddle our way through the new system, trying to figure out how to express mail something internationally, when she reaches the Province question. "Which province is it, dear?"

Wales, I think. What? Wales isn't in there? OK...try South Glamorgan. Now look for Swansea. It's not there? Hmmmm...that's strange. OK, maybe it's Mid Glamorgan. Not there either? Hmmm... *pulls out Blackberry and starts typing furiously* West Glamorgan. Well now, that doesn't seem familiar at all, but whatever, it works. Did I mention I lived in Swansea for 2 years? Finally, my package is in the mail, my wallet is $27.95 lighter, and it will arrive on Wednesday. The day before the deadline.

And now, I'm off to stare at the ceiling for many hours. Because my life cannot handle this much excitement. DO YOU HEAR ME UNIVERSE? STOP IT!