G064

If I failed I do wonder if an entry would have been written at all. Maybe yes. Most likely, no. If something were written I would still make the attempt to find the funny in it. It would turn out to be very cynical. Maybe a curse word or two. I could even fill the entire entry with nothing but curse words. That would be fun.

Luckily, on this day, you are spared the page of curses. Things turned out for the better. Yahoo!

(Google! doesn't work as well.)

(Neither does Ask.com!)

I wake up ready to tackle what is needed to be done on this day. Or is it more of a hope of readiness? I stopped singing songs/strumming the guitar for a couple of days to be even more prepared. I needed a clear head with a focus on the target. Keep it steady. Shut one eye. Ready. Aim.

On the morning road, the sun is very bright, the skies clear. The heat hasn't kicked in yet. It'll happen when all of this is over. When a radio station gets more static than I'd care to listen to I change it to something else. The stations switch from R&B to Soul and back again. This happens 4 or 5 times while on the road. I look at the freeway ahead. I am surprised at the chipper mood I'm in. There's a smirk on my face. It sure is better than being more nervous than a bomb-disposal expert while on the job. "Cut the blue wire, dude."

Destination reached, it isn't as crowded as it could be. On a some days the line reaches out and around the corner. This time it starts just outside the door. An application filled, I play the waiting game. With my iPod, of course. With my mind on the possibility of pulling out a blog entry from this I put the MySpace playlist on play. Still chipper. That's good.

There are girls to be seen. With small few of them, I take more than one look. After getting the slip to take the test I wait some more. I look some more as well. Not just girls, mind you, but the people. People watching is a fun activity. It's probably the adult version of a little girl playing with her dolls. Except these figures move on their own and have mortgages. They can be surly, kind, racist, or funny. Most of the people here are impassive. Can't blame them with a place like this. This is where failure and success hang out from Monday to Friday as the best of friends. Someone tells me they used to hang out here on the first Saturday of every month but the budget got cut.

G064. My number is up and I take the test. There are a few questions that throw me off. I skip over them and continue. I skip over enough to have a legitimate worry about failing this shifty paper of multiple choices. With the last question answered, I go back and ruminate over the more slippery queries.

"Ok."

"Umm . . . yeah."

"That one."

"B. I think."

"Maybe this?"

"What a stupid set of choices!"

"Totally got that one."

I turn in the test and wait some more. The "myspace Lack" playlist goes back on. Not too far from where I stand is a girl sitting next to her . . . boyfriend? Dad? I think "boyfriend" to keep my less controllable solicitations far away. I look at her.

Uh-oh.

She's looking at me too!

Her gaze fixed on my eyes, I am taken aback. I hold the look to check if she really is (for lack of a better term) checking me out. She is. In this impasse in our lives, the only time I'll probably ever make any sort of contact with this fair stranger, I am the one to break and look away. I look down.

"Hello floor."

"What's up?"

"I think that chick over there is looking at me. What do you think?"

"I'm just a floor, man. I can only see her size 6s. Try asking the wall."

The girl leaves soon after the trade-off of looks. I think to myself that she probably was dropped on her head or something. No girl in her right mind would check me out. It just does not happen.With the Dismemberment Plan's "Ellen and Ben" on the headphones, a clerk calls out, "Mr. Fernandez?" He wants me to sign a slip. I pass the written exam for a driver's permit.