Post

Last week I had an emotional day. Maybe it was all the rain, or that I was PMS-ing since I wanted to eat every chocolate bar within arm’s reach all week. I went to aerial yoga in the morning where we did a lot of deep stretching, so maybe I released something in a chakra somewhere.

Everything started out fine. I left yoga class and thought I should visit the DMV since I had the time. My umbrella and folder of materials were already in the car, so I went. There was a free parking spot and the line *only* took an hour. I had all the right stuff to get my license, and the employee told me there were 5 minutes left to take the written test, so did I want to take it or come back another day? A test? I’ll come back next week when I register my car. No, no. I’d better do it now. I tried to keep a positive outlook, but I was feeling anxious because I’m not very expert in official road safety and I was in the last group rushing in before the testing area closed.

…

Well, I failed. I don’t remember which questions I got wrong because, apparently, there were a lot. And now I would have to return someday to bring my smog certificate and retake the test. You can take it up to three times. My cheeks burned with shame as I tried to log back in and retake it before anyone noticed I’d failed, but the screen wouldn’t load fast enough, and I heard a guard approach. “Ma’am, did you fail the test?” Yeah. “You have to come back another day. You can’t retake it right now.” Ok.

My eyes were starting to water. I was a failure! I’d had a feeling I would fail because common sense tests always tend to make me doubt my instincts and think everything is a trick question. But, yup, I failed. I was trying to gather my belongings and get out of there to my car where I could contemplate all of my failures alone in solitude, when this much older man whom I had talked to in the waiting area earlier stopped me to ask for my name and if we could exchange phone numbers. He’s been in LA for 6 months and is looking for a friend. I don’t know what commonalities our friendship would be based on, other than both having waited at the DMV for an hour, so I said “No, thank you” and tried not to feel bad. I thought back to the time in Nicaragua when I gave a guy my number out of discomfort and guilt, and he sent me 100 unanswered Whatsapp messages in two days before I blocked him.

I got to my car to cry about not knowing the rules of the road and thought maybe I should have taken his number in case I fail again and need someone to drive me places.