Sunday evening, Val and I went to our favorite place, the Outback, to celebrate my new job, our impending move and a successful weekend with the family.
Our waitress was perfectly ditzy, forgetting she asked us about drinks and bread, dropping things and calculating our check using her fingers (OK, I made up that one), and I was all set to write a blog post about her. And then I realized I don't have a right to make fun of others for being forgetful, clumsy or anything of the sort.
FLASHBACK TO FRIDAY, FEB. 23
On the way to Chapel Hill to see Mom after spending the day at my interview with WHBQ and then dinner with Val's parents, I was stopped for speeding in rural Haywood County. The officer was nice enough to give me a warning instead, since I was only going 68 in a 55 and he said that was actually pretty slow for that lonely piece of two-lane highway, and besides, it wasn't egregious enough to force me to have to return in order to go to court to pay the fine. I'll have you know, I didn't even throw out the "my cousins are officers in Knoxville" line to get out of it. Val was looking pretty sexy in the passenger seat, however ...
As I'm leaving Outback I realize I don't have my driver's license. Where could it be? I haven't taken it out since getting the warning, and Val and I looked all through the front seat of the car in case it fell out.
I ruled out an act of God, though who can ever be really sure about that one? Maybe it was His sign to let go of my Georgia lifestyle and embrace Tennessee again? Which isn't helpful, since I need the Georgia license to turn over to the state of Tennessee. Thanks a ton, LORD.
Monday, I went so far as to admit defeat and head to the DMV to get a replacement. The offices, it turns out, are closed on Mondays. I even called the Haywood County Sheriff's office, because by this time I was convinced that the officer forgot to give me back my license, it was all his fault, he's stealing my identity to get subscriptions to Thieving Policeman Digest and I was too frazzled to notice.
Tuesday morning, as I'm gathering up my passport to try the DMV again I pilfered through my wallet one more time, which I figured was as futile and desperate as criminals throwing their gun at the cops once the bullets are gone.
My license was in the wallet. Underneath the little see-through pocket where the license is displayed.
The lesson, as always? I'm a ditz.