Vroom, Vroom!

Though many people may beg to differ, I have been safely and proficiently driving the streets of Bangkok for nearly three years now. I remember how, way back in the day, I would crawl through Bangkok traffic, terrified of knocking over one of the dozens of newspaper and garland sellers as I'd clutch the steering wheel in white-knuckled terror. I used to sit with my nose about three inches away from the windshield and would squint with hawk-eyed acuity at the traffic before me, trying to keep a look-out for all the whizzing motorcycles. Nowadays, however, I slither through it all like a regular pro. But lemme knock on wood before continuing any further.


I got my very overdue driver's license renewed the other day. It was about time, goshdarnit. After all, I've been cruising around Bangkok on an expired driver's license for the past seven months now. Yes, that's right, seven months; that baby expired way back in October! Oooh, what a wild life I live, huh. Yeah, baby. Lynn c'est une tres wild punk rebel, constantly living on the edge with her seven-months overdue driver's license. Ooooh.


Blue, pink, and yellow lines are not part of actual driver's license, though it'd be cool to be able to decorate and beautify one's license as one sees fit. Those lines were scratched in by yours truly, courtesy of Microsoft Paint's wonderful little paint tool. What, didn't your mother ever tell you not to give out your address and personal info to strangers? Yes, I thought so too.


I realize I look a bit like a convicted criminal in that pic. OK, A LOT like a convicted criminal. All that's missing is the tousled hair, black eye and height chart behind me, and this might as well be my mug shot.


The pic was taken a couple of months ago on a bad-hair-day during exam week (obviously, since I'm still in my university uniform and all ). I remember stumbling out of the exam hall and heading towards the Kodak shop across the street from my uni to take the pic, intending to head to the Ministry of Transportation afterwards to renew my license. Obviously, I ended up heading for bed instead, putting the whole renewing my license thing on hold for many months as I am apt to do because I am the world's biggest procrastinator. Anyways, exams... that obviously explains my listless, rather apathetic expression - a sort of, "Hello! Anyone alive in there?" look (and telling from this picture, obviously not). Well, hey, don't look so smug. You wouldn't look so hot either if you'd only gotten thirty minutes of sleep the night before. Humph.


Oh well, everyone has been victim to the crappy ID pic once or twice (or more) before in their lives, right? Everyone knows that passport pics and driver's license pics are SUPPOSED to be unfair representations of oneself. It's like, a rule... or something. In fact, I bet Britney Spears and all the other beautiful Hollywood people have sucky driver's license pics, too.


(Well, except for maybe Nicole Kidman. I don't think she can even take a bad picture. It's, like, physically impossible for her.)


Anyways, I filled out the little renewal form, took a number from the counter, and waited patiently for my number to be called. Because I was bored, I let my nosiness get the better of me and ended up killing time by pretending to mind my own business whilst coincidentally overhearing stealthily eavesdropping on other people's conversations.


There was this chick about my age who was sitting with her dad in the row before me. Telling from their conversation, they were waiting for the results of the written part of the examination to see if she was all set to go for the practical part of the exam outside by the parking lot area.


(Note: Their conversation wasn't in English or anything, but I've just translated it for your convenience. See how nice I am?)

Terrified Chick: What if I didn't pass?
Terrified Chick's Dad: You did pass. Don't worry.
TC: But what if I didn't?
TC's Dad: You DID.
TC: Okay, but even if I passed the written part, what if I fail the practical part?
TC's Dad: You won't. (sounds rather irritated at this point)
TC: But WHAT IF?
TC's Dad: Then we'll bribe one of the officials.
TC: You will?!
TC's Dad: Of course. (smugly) I have connections.
TC: (whining) Then why do I even have to TAKE the practical part? You can just bribe them now and save me the hassle of having to take the practical exam.
TC's Dad: (appalled expression on face) Because then it'll look bad if you don't even try!

Ahhh, Thailand, the land of bribery and rosy-tinted shadiness. I know this sort of thing goes on all the time, but I couldn't help but feel slightly peeved with TC and her father's corrupting ways. I mean, most people have to take that stupid practical exam over and over and over again before they can finally pass it and receive their very hard-earned license (well, for me at least), and here comes Miss TC with her father who's filled to the ears with connections. She can waltz right through the practical exam, knock over a dozen cones, run through ten red lights, park a meter away from the curb during the evil, EVIL parallel parking bit of the practical exam, and pass just like that. How unfair is that?


But such is life. No one ever said life was fair.


And in case you were wondering, no, I didn't knock over a dozen cones, run through ten red lights, or park a meter away from the curb during the parallel parking part of the practical exam. At least not the second time, I didn't. (I might've done so the first time, though.)


Yes, that's right, folks. I had to take the practical exam twice because I plain sucked at parallel parking. Imagine my horror when the instructor dude actually took out a RULER and measured to see just how far away I was from the curb.

Mr. Anal Instructor With Wooden Ruler: You're two centimeters over the limit.
Lynn: Wha?
Mr. AIWWR: Two centimeters. You gotta retake the test next week.
L: (sputtering) B-b-b-but!
Mr. AIWWR: (tapping wooden ruler against thigh with dictator-like severity)
L: But it's TWO centimeters!
Mr. AIWWR: One centimeter I might be able to overlook, but two? No, sorry.
L: (thinking to self) I hope your stupid, baneful ruler falls apart into a million pieces and gets scattered to opposite ends of the earth. No, scratch that. I hope they scatter to opposite ends of the universe! HA! Let's see you try to measure how far away from the curb I am now!
Mr. AIWWR: Can you move along now? There are people waiting behind you.
L: (sulkily) Ka, yes sir.

So I failed the parallel parking bit the first time, but I totally rocked it the second time. I practiced, and practiced, and practiced. I scuffed my tires a million times against every single last curb in my moo ban that week, but it was all worth it in the end because I finally passed the second time. HA! Take that Mr. AIWWR!


~*~


This sort of swerves off topic, but yes, this verifies my theory about Hollywood people being capable of possessing crappy ID picitude.


It's the infamous mug shot.

"Child molester?? Wha, me?
Ape in disguise as pop star? That sounds more like it."


How did oh-so-hip-and-happening Michael of the Thriller and Beat It days mutate into this terrifying freak of nature? I mean, freak of plastic? He looks really surprised, or maybe his plastic surgeon stretched his skin and eyebrows a little too far north? Sigh, poor Michael. Anyways, the moral of the story? Don't feel bad about your heinous ID pics, everyone. You're not the only one out there suffering such an injustice.