Trains, Planes and Automobiles

Hang on for the ride.

Wednesday Night, 9:00 p.m.: Evelyn is prepped and ready -- she has all the paperwork for the Driver's Test at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow. She is very excited. If she passes the test, she'll have the use of Lillian's car for the weekend.

I drive over to Lillian's apartment in Uptown to pick up her car for the test. Lillian is going to New York in the morning and needs her car back at her house by 10:00 a.m. -- her roommate will take her to the airport and leave her car at the apartment for us to pick up later. No worries. We're all set. The plan is in place.

Thursday Morning, 7:25 a.m.: The test site is in Plymouth - out past 494. We need about 20 minutes to get there, leaving a few minutes to do a quick spin around the site. Evelyn and I climb into the Scion - and do a final check of all paperwork: Permit. Check. Driving log. Check. Insurance card for the Scion. Check. Oh, wait, no check.

"The proof of insurance is supposed to be kept in the glove compartment." Evelyn says, "Where is it?"

"Did you ask Lillian for the proof of insurance?"

"No, I thought it would be there."

"You thought it would be where? So, we don't have proof of insurance? And you didn't verify with Lillian that the card was in the car?"

"NO, I thought it would be there."

"Not everyone keeps their insurance card in the glove box."

"But that's what they said in Driver's Ed."

"Shitballs."

"Let's go to Lillian's and get the insurance card."

"We'll never make it to the 8:00 appointment. They won't let you take the test without the card and if we are late they'll give someone else our spot and we'll have to wait HOURS AND HOURS." Mommy says this in a very LOUD and MAD voice.

I run into the house to see if for some reason we have a copy of Lillian's insurance card. No. I call the insurance agent to see if she can email me something. No - not in the office yet. I throw my purse on the table and run back down to the car.

"Evelyn, we don't have time to get there by 8:00 -- we'll have to reschedule. The test site is always backed up at least by an hour." Again, LOUD and MAD.

Tears ensue. Evelyn's nose is running and her eyes are blood red. Mommy feels BAD. Real BAD.

"Shitballs - call Lillian and tell her to stand on the boulevard in front of her apartment with the insurance card. We'll do a drive by."

By now, it's 7:45. We drive the six miles over to Lillian's apartment. She is standing outside like a dutiful daughter, insurance card in hand. We slow down just enough to grab it and deadhead to Plymouth. Traffic is light and we miraculously get to the testing station around 8:20 a.m.

Thursday Morning, 8:30 a.m.: We breeze through the registration with all paperwork in order. The blinkers work. The headlights burn white. The brakes lights are red hot. Evelyn settles into the driver's seat, extremely calm and totally in control, waiting for the instructor, ready to navigate the course and secure her freedom. I gather my purse and the morning paper so I can hang out in the waiting room.

Oh, wait. My purse. Where is it? Shitballs, again. It's back on the dining room table. With my money, credit card and house/car keys. Mmmm - you need $12.00 to get the license. Evelyn doesn't have any cash on her. OK, stop. Let's see if she passes the test, then we will worry about the money.

I settle down to wait. Read the paper. Scan the road for signs of Evelyn and the Little Hitler driving instructor that I am convinced will show her no mercy.

Less than fifteen minutes later, I see the car pull over. She's across the street behind a parked car that obstructs my view. I have a slight view of the top of the car and the back end. The passenger door opens. I don't see Little Hitler. What is he doing? I don't see Evelyn. A few minutes pass. They both emerge from the car, cross the street in my direction. They aren't talking. Evelyn is showing no signs of YES or NO. What the heck.

I dash out of the waiting room and almost run into her at the doorway. "Well??!!!"

"I passed." No WOO HOO. No beaming smile. This kid is cool. Nothing much phases her. If it does, she rarely shows it. The instructor gives her paperwork to fill out and we proceed to the queue.

I call Mike and tell him the news. I also ask for his credit card number so we can get the license. We'll be out of here and back in business by 9:30 - easy.

Oh. Credit cards? No, the State of Minnesota Driver's License Bureau DOES NOT ACCEPT CREDIT CARDS. Who in the hell carries cash around. And who in the hell still writes checks?

OK. Plan B: We will finish filling out the paperwork and go to the Service Center at Ridgedale after work/school/golf match to secure the driver's license. She'll be legal by nightfall. Easy. Decision made.

I drop Evelyn off at school and drive home to get my purse. As soon as I pull into the driveway, I realize there is something VERY WRONG here. Oh yes, I remember. My purse containing my money, credit card and HOUSE/CAR KEYS is on the dining room table. And the house is locked.

"Shitballs."

Thursday Morning, 9:40 a.m.: I run across the street to see if my neighbor still has a house key - NO. OK, I'll try the bedroom window - the screen is already mangled from a long ago break-- in by Lillian and MC. Yeah, well, I keep the window LOCKED because the screen is so compromised. I check all of the other windows that could support my girth, but none are open. And I don't want to break glass.

Thursday Morning, 10:00 a.m.: So, now, I drive over to Uptown, AGAIN, to get a house key from Lillian. And remember I can't leave her car there for her, because: my purse containing my money, credit card and HOUSE/CAR KEYS is on the dining room table. And the house is locked.

Thursday Morning, 10:15 a.m.: I ring Lillian's buzzer. No answer. She is supposed to be getting packed for her flight that leaves in three hours. I ring the buzzer again. Still, no answer. I tackle a young woman who is sauntering down Holmes and beg to use her cell phone. I call Lillian. NO ANSWER. Oh, for the Love of the Lord. I leave her a message, "HELP ME. I AM CAUGHT IN A NIGHTMARE. I am waiting downstairs." I sit back and give up control. A few minutes later the door pops open and she is staring down at me like I am a lunatic.

"Just don't even ask," I say. She hands me a key to the house. I climb back into the Scion and beat ass back to Golden Valley. I let myself in, grab my purse and head back over to Uptown to drop off the car so Lillian can use it to get to the airport. Ben will leave it on the street so I can pick it up later for Evelyn to use for the weekend.

Thursday Morning, 10:45 a.m.: I am finally on my way to work, after assuring everyone I'd be in no later than 9:30. I've missed a few meetings and probably annoyed a few coworkers. Shitballs. I pull into a parking lot and will have to pay at least $12.00 for a six-hour park.

After about an hour and a half of checking emails and doing the usual damage control, I decide to dash over to the bank to get some cash for the driver's license fees. I go to grab just my billfold out of my purse. No billfold. I take everything out of the purse to make sure it's not lodged at the bottom of the bag. No such luck. Still no billfold. That means no cash card. No ID. No NOTHING! Shitballs.

I borrow $20 from a coworker so I can at least pay for parking - and plan to stop at home before I get Evelyn. My billfold must be on my desk - after all, I referenced the insurance agents number off of my insurance card that was in my billfold. Yeah, that's where it is. No worries.

Thursday Afternoon, 4:15 p.m.: I leave the office. Pay $12.00 for a five-hour park and head home to get my billfold. I dash up into the office to grab the billfold. Yes, you guessed right. NO BILLFOLD. I rip the house apart - where in God's name is it? After going mental for at least five minutes I decide to grab a blank check and head out to the golf course to pick up Evelyn. She has a match, should be done by 5:00 and we'll be golden to get the license.

I get to the course -- which is on 77th and Highway 100 and wait for the girls to finish the match. Evelyn text messages me that they are on the 8th hole. And it's now 5:10. Oh, and then I realize all of the paperwork she gave me this morning -- the forms, proof of passing the exam, etc. -- are under the visor in LILLIAN'S CAR. OH, and where is Lillian's car? You guessed it. Back in Uptown.

I hit the gas and get to 31st and Holmes around 5:25. I park my car. Hop into Lillian's car. And remember THE BILLFOLD. LOOK FOR THE BILLFOLD. And lo and behold, there it is. In the little compartment in the front of the console. Black compartment. Black billfold. It was there all along. Since 7:45 this morning. In my haste, I just didn't see it. We could have paid for the license eight hours ago. Shitballs.

Back to the task at hand: How in the hell will I get back out to Edina, pick up Evelyn and drive to Ridgedale by 6:00? It is after all, RUSH HOUR.

Thursday Afternoon, 5:30 p.m.: I am sitting in traffic on the east side of Lake Calhoun. Trying desperately to head west out Excelsior Boulevard. I realize that the deed is done. We must give up the ghost. There is NO WAY I can get Evelyn in Edina and make it out to Ridgedale in 30 minutes. I call Evelyn.

"Evelyn, I'll never be able to pick you up and have enough time to get back out to Ridgedale. Our only hope is for someone to drive you from the course to the Service Center - and I'll meet you there. That's our only chance. Is there someone there that can give you a ride?"

"Yes, Kayla is just coming off the course. I'll ask her. I gotta go."

I leave her to shamelessly beg a rocket ride from her teammate, and continue west on Excelsior Boulevard. Traffic is heavy on Highway 100, and luckily I am able to head West out Highway 7 -- no traffic to speak of. The lights are in my favor. Sweet. No problem here.

Thursday Afternoon, 5:40 p.m.: I call Evelyn and tell her Highway 7 is clear of traffic. They are just getting off of Highway 100. Right behind me.

I head North on Hopkins Crossroad, the fastest way to Ridgedale, but realize there is construction on Hopkins Crossroad at Minnetonka Boulevard. Damn. I proceed a half mile west to Plymouth Road and hope to coast the last mile into the Service Center.

Oh, but wait just one minute, Missy. No such luck. TRAFFIC JAM. DEAD STOP. FOR A GOOD HALF MILE. 4-WAY STOP SIGN.

Thursday Afternoon, 5:45 - 5:56 p.m.: I sit in traffic inching my way through a 4-way stop sign. As soon as it's my turn I jam the accelerator and go to beat hell toward the Service Center. I careen into the parking lot at 5:58 p.m. and almost fall out of the car. I run into the building, take the steps two at a time and skid to a stop in front of the Security Guard who is waiting to push the button on the metal gate -- closing the access for the night. I holler, "WAIT. Please. I need a license."

Three Government workers behind the counter don't even raise their heads –– they just roll their eyes.

"No, really. You don't understand." (WOW, I just sounded like a 16 year old.) "I have had a REAL BAD DAY. I just need a driver's license. I didn't have money this morning when we took the test."

"Alright." Great.

"OK" I say, "She's almost here."

There is an audible snapping of heads.

"You mean it's not for you? And she's not even HERE?"

"Oh, no. It's for my 16-year old. She's ALMOST here. She's right behind me. Really, she is."

"Sorry, Miss. We can't wait. We are closed. She's not even on the premises."

I crumble up the paperwork, slowly. I am walking, very slowly, killing time before I exit the metal gate that is now almost shut. I call Evelyn. Whispering, "Where in the HELL are you?"

"I am just coming up the steps." I hang up.

MOMMY is now YELLING: "She's on the stairs. She's coming up here right now. Oh, please. She's 16. It's her license. She passed the test today against all odds. Have mercy!!"

One lone county worker nods his head and heads to the cash register. But he won't smile. Oh, no.

Evelyn dashes through the side service door that the Security Guard has been holding open for at least 5 minutes. Secretly he's on our side -- he's been observing the drama for the last few minutes with a slight smirk on his face -- it's the biggest event of the day. She drops her golf bag and shoes on the floor and slides up to the counter.

The LONE COUNTY WORKER has Evelyn sign some papers. He guides her to the photo booth -- she smoothes her hair and smiles like nothing has happened, as if she's been patiently waiting her turn for 20 minutes. Like I said, she's cool.

I hand over the $12.00. We get the receipt. She signs her name. We thank him for the tenth time. Evelyn shakes his hand. We gather up the clubs, shoes, PURSE and license and exit the security door. And we breathe. We breathe effortlessly. For the first time today.

May 9, 2007, Thursday Afternoon, 6:15 p.m.: Evelyn Rose Jensen gets her Driver's License.

Now get in the car.