Permission impossible

Good morning, and Happy Labor Day to one and all. I can't wait for the Labor Fairy to get here and bring non-working joy to all of the children. Should it be Lack of Labor Day? Either that or Laborer Day to honor the individual, I think. Labor Day by itself doesn't make too much sense to me. And why am I posting something today? I don't even make sense to me sometimes.

This may come as a surprise to none of you, but I think a lot about time. Specifically in this case, I often look at dates and time periods in my life. For example, I was on a class trip in Paris when December 31, 1993 turned to January 1, 1994. After the countdown and cheers, one of the first things I said to my friends was, "We're graduating NEXT YEAR!" Technically, I was right, because it would be June of '95 that we'd graduate high school, but no one echoed even a fraction of my enthusiasm for that fact. The general consensus was, "Yeah, so?"

Another example came several years later. I was working on campus at UCSB, and the 2003-2004 school year was just underway. I was talking to my friend Dusty, and I revealed what I thought was an impressive observation: "Do you realize that we've now been out of college longer than we were in college?" I guess I expected some pensive silence before a "Wow, you're right!" or something of that nature. Instead, he quickly answered, "Yeah. We graduated over four years ago, so that makes sense." I tried the same thing out with some other friends, and they had very similar reactions. Why was this time period comparison only interesting to me?

Here's the great thing about having a blog: If I find it interesting and start writing about it, I can't see the faces of my readers who might disagree with my assessment. And so I keep writing.

I'm now 30, and since that's a nice, round number, I've been (uh oh) thinking even more about these kinds of things. Being 15 years old was half of my life ago - yes, I can do that math - and one event in particular jumps out at me when I think of being 15. I got my driver's permit.

I'm not sure how it works in other states, or even how it currently works in California, but getting the permit was a bit of a process. One had to take and pass Driver's Education to get some magic piece of paper that then allowed him or her to take the permit test. With the permit secured, one then needs to take Driver's Training and complete that successfully (and turn 16) before taking the actual driving exam.

My process looked a little different. Since my birthday is in June, I needed to have the Driver's Ed part taken care of in the first semester of 10th grade. That wasn't possible, so I either needed to wait until I was closer to 16.5 to get my license or find some way around the system. Fortunately, a friend of a friend of a friend of the family was willing to provide me with "proof" of passing the class and some sample exams so I'd be ready for the permit test. I know, I'm the coolest rebel in all the land.

With my mom's help, we studied those practice tests so thoroughly that I was going to be shocked if I missed more than one or two questions. Some of it was common sense (i.e. don't zoom past a bus with its lights flashing) and some was more technical (i.e. speed limit in an alley). It didn't matter, I was pumped up and ready to kick some permit-granting ass.

We got to the DMV (or as Dane Cook calls it, "Satan's Asshole") and I took a seat in the designated area. Finally, a woman called my name and had me sit in a little desk area with the test. From where I was sitting, I could look up and see my mom's reassuring face if necessary. Let me tell you, friends: it was absolutely necessary. I read the first question and had no idea in hell what the answer was. I've never been especially good at multiple choice exams since I always find myself making arguments for why all of the answers are right. Here though, I was extremely grateful that I had answers from which to choose instead of some fill-in-the-blank bullshit. So, I used my reasoning skills, crossed off one obviously wrong answer, and selected the best answer left.

Question 2 elicited the same exact response. I didn't have a clue as to what the answer was. "What the hell is going on?" I wondered. I looked up at my mom, and she was confused by my obvious look of panic. After all, we both knew this stuff perfectly. The next question was of the same difficulty, and the next one, and the one after that. I couldn't believe it; I was going to fail my permit test and it was all because I didn't play by the rules. I was learning the lesson the hard way: if you cheat the system, you really only cheat yourself.

After more panicked looks to my mom and the best guessing I could muster, I brought the test over to the woman who would score the exam. She took it from me and immediately started going to work (which is atypical of that profession, I'm told). She moved down the sheet with her eyes pretty quickly, and after a second or two, she made what looked like a little check mark next to one of the questions about a third down the page. She continued on, and after a few more seconds without additional markings, I wondered, "Oh my God, did I only get one right?" She finally got to the bottom of the page, then looked up and said, "Well done. One wrong."

To say I was flabbergasted is an understatement. Believe me, I'm not shy about touting my knowledge on certain subjects, so please don't read any false modesty into this. I was shooting in the dark for that entire test. Somehow my pencil was guided to the right answers, almost like Apollo guiding Paris' arrow to Achilles' heel, if you will. Very similar, in fact. I didn't question how it happened, I just said, "Thank you " and went on my way back over to my mom.

That night, we learned that they had changed the test when it became the new year (a week before I took it), thereby rendering my studying almost completely obsolete. My mom and dad each took the exam to see how they'd fare, and neither would've passed. "How'd you know that one?" they asked after missing a toughy. "I didn't," I said, "I guessed."

So there you go. Local boy makes good...guesses on a permit exam he shouldn't have been allowed to take in the first place. It wasn't the last time I'd look at a test and not know a damn thing, but maybe the only one of those that ended with a sigh of relief. Happy Lack of Labor Day, everyone, and I'll see you here tomorrow for the start of our shortened workweek.