HELL-OF-A-DAY

I have never experienced a Haboob before, but when my beloved mountains disappeared in a dust storm, I knew I was in for trouble.  If I can’t see the mountain range, I become disoriented, and thanks to New Mexico, and the Haboob that they sent, I wasn’t sure what direction was where. It all happened on the day I was scheduled for an emission sticker for my car— as well as a new drivers license. The Motor Vehicle complex is a bit further away than I like to drive, but it’s where I had to go.  

First, I had to find the correct left turn lane (out of three) at a busy intersection. The lane I needed went both left and straight ahead, and once I turned left I had to be sure not to go up a bridge, but turn right on the correct street. I turned right on the street before the correct street, made a u-turn, got on the correct street and noticed massive construction on the opposite side of that road.  However, I had to pay attention to get onto the correct street that led to the Motor Vehicle complex.  I did find the street which was marked, “Turn Here,”  but a sign said “Go to the next traffic light.”  I turned at the light, and after  passing three unfamiliar streets, I finally found the drive-thru for the emission sticker.

Happily, the line of cars wasn’t too long since the outdoor temperature was approaching 100 degrees. A sign instructed me to stop at a machine and push a button for a ticket.  I pushed the button, but the ticket arm didn’t come close to my car window, so I had to open the car door to pull on the ticket which was stuck.  Cars were lined up behind me. I finally pulled out the ticket using both hands.

I reached the examining station and a young man instructed me to, “Step out of your car and stand on the footprints in the cement.” He inspected my car and then said, “Get back into your car.” Then his computer broke, and he left to get another inspector.  The other inspector came to the car and said, “Step out of your car,” and I said, “I will stand on my past footprints.” He examined my car and told me once again to, “Get back into your car. You passed inspection.” I think he meant the car and not me.

Now it was time to drive to the Auto License building. Miracle of miracles, I found a parking spot. As I entered the lobby, I read instructions to, “Sign in on one of the  computers.” All of the computers refused to work. So I proceeded to get into line with other disgruntled folks who had also wrestled with those inoperable machines.  

Finally, a nice lady at the license counter filled out the paperwork for my automobile license, and then she took my photo.  For the next five years, I will have a picture of me looking like the Pillsbury Doughboy.  When I was all done, I followed a sign that said, “Exit Here.”  Had I followed instructions I would have run into a wall.

Driving home on the construction side of the street was daunting, because the detour instructed me to drive on the on-coming traffic lane.  When a car, whose driver could not
follow instructions, came directly at me, I immediately got on an unfamiliar road—hoping it would lead me toward my Haboob covered mountains.  I had to fly by the seat of my pants, but obviously I made it, because you are reading this sad story.

When I entered the elevator on the way up to my apartment, a fellow traveler said, “And how was your day so far?”  I kept my mouth shut and got off on the wrong floor.

Esther Blumenfeld