Friday, April 28, 2017

Things I Don't Understand; and It's "Bayg"

Things I Don't Understand; and It's "Bayg" 

By, 
Jennifer E. Miller


Everyone has pet peeves, or stuff that makes our eyes roll so far to the point they are stuck and we can't unroll them back into position. I'm no exception. 


First: The Bathroom Self Portrait.

Recently, I walked into a public restroom and, before walking to a stall, waited for a young woman standing at the sinks with her cell phone in selfie mode. She didn't even notice me at first. I stood out of the frame because I didn't want to photo bomb her. And if I'm going to be photo bombing, it's not going to be in a bathroom picture!

What is so special about a self portrait in this location? Restrooms are dirty, germy, grimey, graffiti-laden, and all-around gross places. They certainly don't make attractive backdrops. A riverbank littered with goose poop is a better alternative. One could even argue it's nature's bathroom, since bathrooms are such the "in" things with selfies nowadays.


Second: Driving Slow

Specifically on Trent Ave, east of University Road. The speed limit is 50 mph. That's fifty. Fiiiiive zeeeeeroooooo. Not 40; not 35; but 50!

I notice the majority of drivers who choose to set cruise control at snail's pace, have Idaho plates. It's such a lovely state; they should be in more of a hurry to get back. Let see the pedal to the metal Idahoans!

I do miss living in Idaho, at times. I like the rural-ness of it. When we'd travel and say "we're from Idaho," the response was usually, "Oh! Corn growers, right?" No, not Iowa. It's far-fetched to think that Americans don't know the clear difference between the two states, yet it sadly exists. The production of the film Napoleon Dynamite, I will add, helped pin Idaho on the map. Vote for Pedro! (Sorry, couldn't resist.)


That brings me to the third thing: Not Knowing the Geographic Location of All 50 States.

Wasn't this a prerequisite to pass, like, fourth grade? I distinctly recall a test with an outline of the USA and its states where students were expected to write in all the names based on shape and geographical location. I know Vermont versus New Hampshire. Washington is nowhere the other Washington. Colorado and Wyoming are difficult to determine by individual shape alone, but easily distinguishable next to their neighboring territories. North Carolina and South Carolina and North Dakota and South Dakota aren't that hard: one sits north and the other south. C'mon. If you're planning a road trip, you need to know things like "will we be crossing into Mississippi or Missouri next?" And yes, Santa knows there are two Virginias: the regular one and the westward one.


Lastly: Mispronouncing "Bag"

This has been the subject of much debate in our house. I say "bayg" with a long "a" sound. T pronounces it all wimpy-like: "bahg" with shorter "a" sound in apple. I would as soon call it a sack than a "bahg!" It's bayg! Rhymes with egg.

"Egg does not rhyme with bahg, but it rhymes with beg," he points out.

"Yes, except you are saying them wrong: Agg and bayg (both long a's)."

"No, you, for some weird reason, you pronounce bahg as bayg. And anyways, I'm talking about beg, b-e-g; one letter off from egg."

"Me, too. They are all pronounced with the same vowel sound: The long a. 'Egg, beg, bag, vague.' See? They rhyme. We were taught this in elementary school," I inform him.

He wrinkles his forehead at me. "That is most absurd thing I've ever heard. Egg and beg rhyme and sound nothing like bahg or vague."

"What's wrong with the way I say them?"

"It's not the right way."

"Well, you and everybody else know what I'm talking about; so I must be saying them right."

He drums his fingers.

"At least I don't replace r's with h's and move those r's after a's."

"Huh?"

"I've got an idear; pahk the cah in Hahvahd Yahd. Aftawahds, we'll warsh it."

Confused he asks, "What did you just say?"

I chuckle. Then add, "You know, I like the way I say bayg and egg. It sounds like I'm saying them with authority!"

T rolls his eyes. "Can we just bayg this conversation, please?"

"Ha! You said bayg! I win."




Copyright 2017 Jennifer E. Miller

Friday, April 21, 2017

Poem: "Uncle Sam"

April is poetry month. I may have already shared this poem I wrote, but here it is again.


Uncle Sam

By,
Jennifer E. Miller

I do not like doing my taxes,
I do not like them, Uncle Sam.
I do not like them with a fox,
Rather send them six feet under in a box.
I do not like them with some mice,
The process makes me feel not very nice.
I do not like them here or there,
Perhaps I’ll quit filing them altogether.
I do not like doing my taxes,
Got that, Uncle Sam, you are?



Copyright 2017 Jennifer E. Miller


Friday, April 14, 2017

License to Travel-Sorta

Photo by Jennifer E. Miller 2017

License to Travel-Sorta

By,
Jennifer E. Miller


My drivers license requires a renewal this year, so I decided to post my experience and thoughts about documentation(s). I'll begin with the boring stuff and work my way into sarcasm with the possibility of embellishment--as always.

All sorts of new regulations when into play after 9/11. Some were quick to come about, while others slowly filtered their way in as time went on. One of the ways that have changed is government-issued identification. There are several choices now: regular drivers licence; enhanced drivers license; passport card; and passport. The uses and limitations are enough to make your head spin so I have conveniently compiled them below based on my own limited research. In other words, if you are considering one over the other, please do your homework for your own state or territory and travel needs.

Let's start with the regular drivers license. In Washington State, this will soon do nothing more than give you driving privileges. As you can see from the Department of Homeland Security's link, WA State Drivers Licenses will no longer be accepted for domestic air travel either June 6, 2017 or January 22, 2018; I can't figure out which is the correct deadline. Washington is one of those obscure states where obtaining your drivers license isn't "strict enough." From what I gather, it is not necessary to prove your American Citizenship in order to get a standard drivers license. Funny. When I applied for my learner's permit all those years ago I had to bring my birth certificate which would confirm my citizenship. As you can view in this link it there are many loop holes allowing foreigners to obtain driver's license which is out of compliance with the Dept of Homeland Security; at least that's my educated guess. Of course all this subject to change and if you are a Washington State resident, you are aware our governor is fond of suing the federal government over federally mandated regulations and laws. At some point, the extensions with expire. Be prepared.

Moving on. Washington State offers an enhanced driver's license (EDL). It serves as appropriate documentation to cross the border into Canada, Mexico, or areas of the Caribbean by land or sea only (Google Western Hemisphere Travel Initiative or WHTI). They have a microchip in them that stores the registered license number and speeds up the customs process. EDLs are also proof of American citizenship because it is necessary to supply your birth certificate, naturalization card, social security number, etc.

As far as I can tell, a passport card serves the same travel purpose as an EDL but doesn't grant driving privileges. The only countries it can be used are Canada, Mexico, Bermuda, and the Caribbean; again by land or sea travel only. Proof of American citizenship is needed to obtain one and, hence, carries proof of the card bearer's citizenship.

To fly to or from any country a traditional passport is key. It will also serve as proper ID for the TSA when traveling domestically is sufficient to cross the borders if driving or cruising as it, too, serves as proof of American citizenship. However, like the passport card, it does not include driving privileges.

So why explain all this? My standard WA State drivers license expires in about two months. I decided to opt for the enhanced one as my passport is expired. (I didn't know about the five year grace period to renew it.) I am going to need an EDL to travel domestically by air as of next year. I am unsure if I'd remember to grab my passport when simply traveling within the US. We have also talked about making a weekend trip to Canada; and a passport does take extra time than and EDL. By the way, kids under 16 only need their birth certificates to cross into Canada by land with their parents.

I will probably get a passport at some point anyway. Why? It is the most diverse piece of travel documentation available. It's accepted everywhere. And, as I recall applying for my passport previously, it is easier than obtaining an EDL?

Say what?

For a passport, I recall filling out a form, getting a photo, going to the courthouse with my birth certificate, possibly getting something notarized while there, mailing it off, and voila! the mailman delivered my passport. To obtain your Washington State EDL was a bit different, as I found out: gather current license and certified copy of my birth certificate; arrive at department of licensing five minutes prior to opening and be the 20th to 25th person waiting outside; wait for employee to unlock door; file inside to get in line number one. It's all uphill from here.

While waiting in line number one, I notice the employees behind the desks and immediately think of the movie Zootopia. The...entire..room...operates...slowly...just...like...the...sloths...in...the...movie.

You think I'm joking, don't you?

Line number one, which is the line just to get your number cue was a fifteen minute wait. Patrons get a slip of paper and take a seat in the waiting area. When I walk up, the grouchy sloth behind the desk asks what I need today. I inform her I wish to renew and upgrade to an EDL.

"Birth certificate and drivers license please."

After I hand them to her, she clips a piece of paper to a clip board and tells me to fill it out.

"Ya don't need to call anyone for info; just fill it out to the best of your knowledge."

She hands me one last slip of paper with my cue number on it and tells me to sit down and listen for it to be called. There is a monitor screen that list the "now serving" numbers. I'll call this line number two.

I locate a seat in a rows of hard plastic chairs that are in desperate need of a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser scrubbing. The white tile floor is chipped in places and I realize it's probably the same seats and textiles decades ago when I waited to take my initial drivers test.

I notice the man seated behind me is mumbling various Tourettes curse words. Doing my best to ignore him, I begin filling out the form, which is surprisingly simple; basically the information on my birth certificate with a few extras like "have you ever had a license issued in another state or territory." I got hung up on the section asking for parents place of birth. I knew my mother's, but I could quite remember my father's. My birth certificate stated their places of birth with only the state, not the city. No matter, I thought. The grouchy lady in charge of line number one said there was no need to call anyone. I finish up and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And watch all the people who were behind me in line number one get their numbers called before me.

My foot taps impatiently. I purse my lips. I wring my fingers.

I'm beginning to understand the source of the man's Tourette's Syndrome.

When I feel as though I'm about to burst, my magic number is finally called. Relieved, I walk to the desk and hand a new woman my clipboard of information. I take a vision test, then she clicks her computer mouse and rapid-fire types something on her keyboard. She ho-hums and finally asks me to supply my social security number. I recite it and stand there as she continues to type her way toward carpul tunnel syndrome.

Finally, she ceases, places my clipboard with my precious documents on a counter behind and says, "It's a two part process to get your enhanced driver's license. Someone will call you to conduct an interview. Have a seat."

"Again," I added.

"Hm?" she is puzzled.

"Well a two part process would mean our meeting here is the second part. I already sat down after waiting in that line." I point to grouchy lady's line which is now wrapped around the perimeter of the room.

"I don't understand. Have a seat and wait for your name to be called, please."

She buzzes the next cue number as I return to my hard plastic chair. I glance at my watch and wished I hadn't; over forty five minutes already.

To occupy my time, I people watch. I see my birth certificate being passed around from person to person at the front counter, where I just walked from. It gets set down next to someone who takes a sip coffee from his tumbler and spills it on himself. None of that better be on my documents! He rises from his seat, goes into a back room, and comes out with a paper towel to clean up his tumbler. There has got to be the equivalent of an elementary school population crammed into this place and the employees are at their workstation washing dishes.

After a fair amount of time, the man calls me by name this time. I'm finally out of line number three.

"So you're here to get an enhanced drivers license, huh?"

"That's the form I filled out," I said sarcastically.

Blank stare with a frown.

I'm convinced that in order for someone to get a job at the DOL (or DMV for that matter), a prerequisite skill is to possess zero personality skills. What do these people do in their off time? Practice their scowl? Perhaps I should have "enhanced" my arrival at this guy's counter by moon-walking my way up. Sheesh.

"Yes, sir. I'd like an enhanced drivers license, please," I said. I matched my bland tone to his, hoping this would lighten his mood. As unreal as it sounded, it worked.

"Great! I can help you with that," he says more cheerfully. I spotted a thin smile, but, it's DOL so I'm sure none of my readers will believe me.

Line number three guy puts on his reading glasses and types a few things into his computer. He certainly isn't rapid-fire typist like line number two woman. Like many men, he types using his two index fingers. I silently roll my eyes because the wait process would go much faster if he could up his words per minute from twelve and a half to forty five simply by learning to type properly.

Soon he looks down at my application and over the top of his glasses at the computer screen and grimaces.

"Hmm," he begins. "I see here, you wrote your mother's place of birth but your father's place of birth is missing."

"I am unsure of the city. It's city A, B, or C."*

Line guy number three gives me a questioning stare down.

"How come you know where your mother was born and not your father?"

"I know the region he was born in, but I have simply forgotten which city. The lady over there," I point to grouch-puss at line number one, "said I didn't need to contact anyone to get the info; just fill it out to the best of my knowledge. I can make some calls if you prefer."

"No no. This is fine, we don't need it."

Then why did you drill me about it?

Line number three guy verifies a few more things, makes sure I understand I can't fly internationally with my EDL, then has me sign a final form. He punches a hole in my old drivers license, invalidating it, and returns my documents to me.

"Have a seat. Your name will be called when its your turn to snap a photo."

Again?! I think. The phrase "have a seat" is going to put a sour taste in my mouth from now on.

Line number four means back in the chair. There are enough people in this place creating body heat that the fan kicks on. A gentle whir spins from the drop ceiling's vent.

I take a quick snooze and wake up to someone shouting my name. I leap to my feet and head up to the counter.

"Ready for your photo?" Line number four woman asks.

Rubbing my eyes awake I say, "Sure."

Line number four woman has me sign electronically, prints my temporary EDL, and says I'll get my physical license in the mail. But they are running behind and to expect at least three to four weeks. Sigh. That would create line number five. I've spend a few hours at DOL, what's a few more weeks?

When I get home I warn my husband of the ordeal to get an EDL. He assures me he has all the documentation so he run down to get his own. I sit at the table drinking some calming herbal tea as he sifts through the important papers in the safe. Next I hear, "Jen! I can't find my birth certificate!"

We are in for a trip to the Department of Health. The thought of waiting through another government agency line is too much. I slam my head on the table in defeat.


The End


*Trying not divulge too much personal info on here. I didn't actually say "city A, B, or C," but rather the actual city names. Surely my readers can understand that.

Copyright 2017 Jennifer E. Miller

Friday, April 7, 2017

Spiders in the Midst




Spiders in the Midst

By,
Jennifer E. Miller


The other day, G and I drove along the main arterial running various errands. She was jibber-jabbering as normal about the usual nonsense things. All of a sudden she stops short and gasps in horror.

"Mom! MOM! I saw a spider!"

Mom does not care for spiders and does her best to stay calm whilst continuing down the busy arterial.

"Where," I ask.

"Back here. On the seat. It was next to me!"

"Where is it now?"

"I don't know, it crawled under the seat. I can't see it anymore!!"

I nervously tap the steering wheel as I ask the most important question.

"How big was the spider?"

G holds up her fingers apart, displaying a size that would put said arachnid at requiring a Valium prescription.

I quickly think what to do or say next. Truthfully, I'm imagining a creepy crawly with sweaty fangs under my seat, ready to ambush me at any second. I feel the urgent need to tape my pant legs to my shoes but I don't carry duct tape in the car.

Meanwhile, G is becoming equally anxious and fidgets in her seat.

"Mommy! I want you stop the car now!"

I reassure her that we can safely drive to the gas station. Although, I question that statement myself as I'm preparing for eight legs to wrap around my face and pin me to my headdrest while it sucks blood from my jugular like Dracula.

Shaking the day-nightmare off, I steer the car to our destination with a pounding Tell-Tale heart. I skid the car to a stop at the first pump, slamming the brakes hard enough to give the car a good jolt. G and I click our seat belts off with a swiftness that could challenge a peregrine falcon.

"Mommy! Get me out of here!" G cries as tears stream down her cheeks.

We exit the vehicle, and I proceed to casually begin pumping gasoline into the car. I am trying to remain calm and act normal, after all.

"Mommy, I'm scared! I NOT going back in there!" G declares.

I take a deep breath.

"Okay, show me where you saw the spider."

"I told you, I NOT going back in there!" she reminds me.

"Fine. Tell me where you saw the spider."

Next to where I sit; in the middle."

She points to the other side of her booster seat.

"That's where you first saw it?"

She nods her head.

"And it crawled away?"

She nods frantically again. "Yes, under the seat."

"My seat, right?"

"No. I don't think so. I guess I don't know for sure, but I think it was the back seat."

Phew! It didn't go under my seat! I thought. My pulse begins to slow.

As the gas tank fills, I examine the scene. It's difficult to see with out a flashlight, and I don't care to get my head too close to the would-be assailant. Despite my efforts, I don't see anything.

"The spider was about this big, you said?" I touched my thumb and forefinger together in about a quarter size.

"Mmmm. No like this."

G pinches her thumb and forefinger together. Only about three millimeters separates the two.

I'm looking for a needle in a haystack. A spider that small can hide anywhere. Maybe it's a baby spider. Baby spiders have siblings--lots of them. They usually huddle together on the mother's back by the dozens.

Imagining dozens of spiders in the car, I become tense. They all have the potential to grow up to be big scary spiders. G senses my anxiety as I tap my foot as I think about what to do next. I see her eyes wide with fear. She glances at the car, shivers, and looks back at me; pleading to have another option than return to arachnid nest.

We step a safe distance away from the gas pump as I pull my cellular phone from my pocket. I tap the screen.

Confused, G asks, "What are you going, Mom?"

"Calling Dad. We need rescuing."

The line rings and a groggy T answers the phone. "Hello?"

"Yeah, come get us. It's an emergency."

I hear a thud as he tumbles out of bed.

"Are you guys ok? What happened?"

"We were under attack. Please come asap."

"Yes! I'm on my way."

Before we hang up, I inform him our location.

After a few minutes, T skids to a stop in the parking lot and leaps out. He runs over, demanding to know what happened.

"Give me your keys," I say first.

He tosses them over to me and they jingle as I catch them.

"What happened?" he repeats.

"There's a spider in the car!" G says.

His look of worry turns into annoyance.

"That's all?"

"That's all? It tried to attack us," I say.

It's his turn to try remaining calm. He inhales and exhales a few breaths.

"Why did I need to come?"

"G and I have decided we aren't riding in the vehicle with the spider. We needed the other car."

T folds his arms; displeased.

"And I'm supposed to ride with the spider?"

G puts her hands on her hips and sticks her head out a little.

"You're a policeman! Deal with it!"

At that we skip to the uninfested vehicle and drive home safely.

Meanwhile, T enters the spider-car where eight eyes are spying on him from a covert location...


(This work is a mix of fiction and non-fiction.)

Copyright 2017 by Jennifer E. Miller