Flannel and Berries

I’ve been waiting for my new, high-priced Massachusetts license ever since the RMV rant four weeks ago. Today I called the RMV and found out what the problem was. First, let’s recap: I went to the RMV in Boston, twice, and filled out all the paperwork, which prominently featured my address in Boston. I proved I was a Massachusetts resident by showing the bills I got at that very same address in Boston. I handed in my Connecticut license, demonstrating that my previous residence was in, duh, Connecticut (where licenses are a heck of a lot cheaper, by the way).

Despite these obvious clues that, hey, maybe this girl lives in Boston, my license has been mailed to a town in Western Massachusetts, about as far from Boston as you can get without donning flannel and living off venison and berries.

Why? Well, ten years ago I was in college in that town and I got a learner’s permit, on which I drove around one parking lot in a truck in first gear, once. Twice, tops. I never even got the license, and I’ve lived in three other states since then. Still, the RMV never forgets.

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