Posted by John
A few weeks ago the wife and I went to dinner with some friends at a great little local, family owned Mexican restaurant not too far from our house. We were seated right away and ordered the requisite pitcher of margaritas. The waitress did her job and requested our ID’s, which my wife was more than happy to brandish because she’s getting old and being carded makes her feel young or something. The other couple we were with are also transplants from Ohio and commented on the fact that the wife and I still hadn’t gotten Tennessee licenses even though you are required by law to do so within 30 days of moving. The wife, unfazed by breaking any laws said, “I know, we’re still here illegally!”
Dear god, you should have seen the look on my fucking face. We were in a goddamn Mexican family restaurant and she announced to the entire goddamn place that we are here “illegally.” I thought for sure the doors to the kitchen would burst open and a mariachi band in full poncho and sombrero regalia would emerge singing a song like, “Fiesta! Bienvenido a America! Cha, cha, cha! Fiesta!”
Then they’d see we’re nothing but a couple northern Yankees and they’d be like, “Ah, stupid fucking gringos! You spend 4 hours tied to the chassis of a goddamn pickup truck and then tell me about being illegal!”
I didn’t want that incident to ever happen again so a few days later I took a half-day off work to go to the DMV and get a new license. I arrived 15 minutes before it opened only to find a line 50 people deep already standing outside, most of whom didn’t look like they could read, let alone drive.
After standing in line, filling out the requisite forms and paying the fee, I was finally seated in front of the teal blue Tennessee license backdrop to have my picture taken. The woman behind the camera said, “Smile on the count of three. One… Two……………..”
Jesus Christ lady, what are you doing, reinstalling the camera software on the computer or some shit? Take the fucking picture already!
For the record, I’m a horribly un-photogenic person. I’ve known this my whole life so consequently I shy away from photographs whenever possible unless I’m wasted. If I’m wasted at least later I can be like, “Oh look, I was wasted; that’s hilarious.” Otherwise if I’m not wasted it’s like, “Oh wow, I look like I’m wasted but I’m not; that’s hideous.” It’s worse when I have to pose for formal pictures or when I have to hold some sort of facial expression until the picture is taken. It’s like I have to concentrate so hard on not moving a muscle in my face that when the picture is finally taken I’m wearing an expression that looks like I’m trying not to shit my pants. Just the other night in fact, we were out with some friends celebrating a birthday and had the waitress take a picture of the group. Immediately after she snapped the photo she was like, “Oh, yeah, I can just go ahead and take another one if you want…” We declined but I knew right away what the problem was and sure enough, 4 of the 5 faces in the picture looked great but there I was looking like I’d just pooped in my pants a little bit. I’m powerless to stop it. In fact, I don’t have any evidence to support this, but I’d be willing to bet that I’ve lost friends because of my lack of photogenicity. I’m sure this exact conversation has happened among former friends of mine:
“Hank, we can not invite that guy out any more. Every time we do someone inevitably brings out a camera and he ruins every one of the pictures. It’s like he’s ruining our memories.”
“Come on Bonnie, he’s not that bad. What’s the big deal if he looks funny in photographs?”
“Hank! I swear he looks like he has a turtle head poking out or something. It just creeps me out and I’m tired of it.”
“Well, you’re kind of right about that. I wonder what his problem is. Maybe he does have a turtle head poking out…”
Anyway, when the woman behind the camera at the DMV finally said, “Three!” I knew my face looked like I was trying not to shit in my pants.
I asked her immediately, “How was that picture?”
“Oh it’s just great,” she said, “You look great.”
“Really??? Because it felt like I looked like I was trying not to shit. Are you sure it’s okay?”
“I’m just printing it off right now and you’ll be all set to go…”
It’s at this point in the story that I’ll let you have the same reaction to seeing my new license as I did:
I’m not making this up. That’s my actual Tennessee driver’s license now. How the fuck does that happen? I think I actually uttered the words, “Shit balls,” out loud when I saw it.
I looked up at the lady as if to say, “What the fuck is this???”
She replied, “It looks good. You have a nice day now,” in a tone that suggested what she was really saying was, “Listen here dick face; there are 137 people in line behind you right now; it’s Friday; I hate my job and I hate my life and right now all I can think about is going home to eat some pie, smoke some cigarettes, and pass out on my couch watching old episodes of Night Court, so you can take that ugly ass license and shove it up your pretty little corn hole because I am not taking your picture again. Now fuck off.”
Seriously, look at how horrible that picture is. It honestly looks like I’m still wasted the day after a bar fight. Either that or I’m auditioning to be a backup singer in Radiohead.
Plus, look at how my gigantic ears are casting massive shadows on the backdrop behind me, making it look like I have the biggest mullet this side of Arkansas. This whole thing is just all types of embarrassing.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words but this picture is only saying one thing, “Hi, my name is Trevor and I like young boy’s penises, sometimes I enjoy torturing small domesticated house pets, and occasionally I wear pretty blouses fashioned from human skin.”
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