DRIVE, SHE SAID

(Part 4)

I had taken the written driving exam … teoria … and my worst fear had been realized. Instead of missing 4 or less, I missed 5. Epic fail.

Did I over-think this question? Did I mis-read that one? Did the computer interpret a Falso when I had clicked Vero … or visa versa? It didn’t matter. I would have to take the exam again. No appointments were available until late August, so I had enough time to study. Enough motivation to study. Oh … and to get a new medical certificate since the original one had expired.

My first worry was that kindly Dr. G would be reluctant to give me another medical certificate … or worse, that he had retired. But a stop at his office, and I breathed a sigh of relief … he was due back from vacation the following week.

I started studying anew. But I was scared to take a Quiz … since my last attempt ended in *buzzer*. I needed to screw my courage to the sticking point … just do it.

Minus 1!

I took a few more Quizzes. More passes.

Dr. G’s walk-in hours are 18.30 to 19.00 … and when I arrived at 18.20, there was already a line of people to see him. By 18.55, with 2 people still ahead of me and two appointments … 19.10 and 19.15 … already waiting, I went to the secretary and asked for the first available appointment. The following Tuesday.

That Tuesday, we left zumba a few minutes early so we’d get to the appointment a few minutes early.

Dr. G was tan and relaxed … and I opened with questions about his trip. I said I needed a medical certificate to get a driver’s license … and he said ok. A few questions about my health, a few keystrokes … printed and signed.

The next day, I went to the driving school for the requisite eye exam. All good. It was almost August … and the school was open Week 1, closed for the 2 middle weeks for Ferragosto, then open again in week 4. My test was the first available in September. In my diligence, I’d go to school to use their computers when available, study at home over the break.

Life happened at the beginning of August, but by Week 4, I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to spend afternoons … plus a couple of mornings … basking in the glow of a monitor. It was going well. The green smiley faces outnumbered the red grimaces … and there were some 100%s, too. On Thursday and Friday, it was all green faces all the time.

I was close-lipped about when the test was scheduled … no jinx-it-if-you-blab from me.

Monday at 8.00 I was outside the school as Franca walked up. David sent me a WhatsApp message that simply said “You got this” … and at that moment, I felt I did. The other 3 ragazzi arrived, and off we headed to Motorrizazione, the DMV.

The waiting room was as tense as before. But today we had some entertainment to distract us from ourselves. From within the exam room, we heard moans and groans. Suddenly, a young man rushed out, followed by the Kathy Bates lookalike examiner (who paused by the guard … really, a guard … and asked him to watch the room). They were both outside, so we didn’t know what was happening. A moment later, another boy scurried out of the room in search of his buddy. Ms. Bates, exasperated as she hurried back into the waiting room, saw him, and scolded him back inside. The original kid reappeared, and sat silently in the waiting room.

Soon it was our turn. “If anyone has to go to the bathroom, please go now. You cannot leave during the exam,” Ms. Bates announced as we stood by the door.

Alphabetically we filed in. My turn at the table … and Ms. Bates inspected my documents and her paperwork. “Who is here with you?’’ she asked. Franca was at my side in an instant. “Ciao Franca,” she began. So … my Carta d’Identità (from the local comune) and my Permesso di Soggiorno (from the federal government) show that I was born in California … and the Motorizzazione list shows that I was born in Los Angeles. All true. But … not the same, not identical, not acceptable. Franca worked her magic, and in a moment I was seated at a computer.

We logged in, we did the two practice questions, we began.

I read slowly, watching for a sly non or a tricky sconsigliato to make a negative, being alert to a question that related to a different sign than what appeared. A few were harder, and I reminded myself that I just had to pass … not get a perfect score.

Ms. Bates called us up alphabetically, and handed me my papers … but I couldn’t read her handwriting. I hurried into the waiting room, and found Franca. … she gave me the great news that I had passed … *ding, ding, ding*. Happy Dance!

Back at school, Chiara gave me a big hug.

And … there’s often an “and” in Italy … she and Franca explained what had happened at the registration desk. Apparently, Motorizzazione insisted that all my documents match. It wasn’t just the license itself … the Carta di Circolazione for the two cars I own (but could not drive) are in their database … and all the documents in my possession must match before they’d issue my license.

Two agencies said one thing, a third said another. The Department of the Interior and the comune versus the Department of Transportation. Batman and Robin versus Superman.

Chiara suggested I talk with our friend, Cesare. He owns the agency that renews licenses and registrations, and deals with the DMV on a daily basis. (In fact, when they accused David of losing his photos, it was Cesare who went there … and found the missing photos misplaced in archivio!) He’d be the one to discuss this Los Angeles — California —USA conundrum with them and get it resolved.

Cesare shook his head … agreeing with the DMV that my documents should say Los Angeles because it is more specific than California. Alrighty then. (It’s part of the charm … changing two documents instead of changing just one.) I said that if this were the case, he’d need to call Lorella in the comune and explain all this to her. Only then would I bring the Carta so she can replace it with a new and improved one. (Good idea, but no, they can’t just type in “Los Angeles” above “California” … because that would be nice and easy. In Italy, office procedures are nice and rough.) More problematically, I’d have to go to the Questura to change the Permesso, the national document that allows me to stay in Italy. I told Cesare that I’d want to bring a letter or some official paperwork from the DMV … since I’d find it next to impossible to try and explain why the change had to be made. It would involve a trip to Florence to ask for the change and another trip to Florence to pick up the new Permesso. With a possible trip in between because … knowing Italy … they will want some additional paperwork or document or form. Or payment.

Cesare was going on his weekly visit to Motorizzazione the next day, and would talk with them. Good luck, Mr. Phelps.

The next day, when I went to pick up my foglio rossa … my learner’s permit … Franca told me I had missed only 1. Happy Dance … one can never do the Happy Dance too often. She also said I shouldn’t worry, that Cesare should be able to get the documents sorted out. Should.

I uninstalled the Quiz app.

(… to be continued …)

PECAN BITES

It seems many cultures have variations of this cookie. In Austria, vanillekipfel … in Mexico, Mexican wedding cookies. They’re delicious with any nut.

1–¼ cup pecans, finely ground
8 oz. butter, softened
½ cup sugar
1 tsp. vanilla extract
2 cups flour
Chocolate chips

- Preheat oven to 350°F (170° C). Line a cookie sheet with a silpat.
- In a large bowl, cream the butter and sugar, then mix in the vanilla.
- Add the flour, and blend to form a dough.
- Refrigerate dough for 30 to 60 minutes.
- Take a small walnut-size piece of dough and form into a ball. Place on cookie sheets.
- Top each cookie with a chocolate chip.
- Bake for 8 to 10 minutes, until lightly browned at the edges.
- Cool.
- Makes about 50 cookies.
Enjoy!