I have lost my driver’s license. I was surprised and embarrassed to discover it wasn’t in my wallet when I went to pay at the liquor store. The clerk seemed sympathetic — what teenager buys ginger liqueur and pricey bourbon when there’s flavored vodka to be had? — but “You don’t look anywhere near forty.” No ma’am, I’m not, and I’m very sorry for wasting your time and making you reshelve these things. Oh well, I figured, that’s fine. I bought groceries, went to the post office to pick up a package. They said “I’m sorry, miss, but you’re going to need some ID with your address before we can release this,” which is actually kind of a comfort. So now I’m home, and I’ve looked in every bag and wallet I own, every surface in the building, every pocket of every pair of pants, every pocket of every jacket, every pocket, period, and it is nowhere. I feel anxious and adrift and frankly I’m not totally sure how I’m going to get it reissued. It’s the only piece of identification I have with my husband’s last name on it, and I’m pretty sure my marriage certificate (which is sufficient proof of name change) and social security card are in my safe deposit box, which — you guessed it — I need ID to get into. I never changed my passport, because why bother? I guess I hope some short brunette teenager finds it and buys herself a pack of smokes, and I’ll just walk around with my passport til I figure all this out.
Value brevity.
