You Look Familiar

I get it a lot. (I also get Alyson Hannigan.) Half the time, there is a connection. Other times, I swear I have a twin out there.

Then there was the night I wish I had a twin.

Back story: After I wrecked my car in July, I  decided to drive my old car. Because it hadn’t been driven in several years, it needed new tags. I went through a huge hassle getting new tags involving lots of red tape and three trips to the DMV. To top it off, the old tag had literally rusted to my car, so I had to go to an auto body shop to have it removed. They cut it off in pieces. I didn’t ask for it back. Didn’t seem necessary.

On my second trip to the DMV, I was very excited because I had  finally completed all the steps necessary to secure my license plate. I was told I need to produce the old plate.

Well, I replied to the lady, that would be impossible because I cut it off. Or rather, I authorized an auto shop to cut it off. Same difference.

Well, she told  me, I still need to file a police report for a missing plate.

You are telling me that I need to go to the police station to file a report against myself for authorizing the removal and disposal of my  tag?

Yes, that’s what she was telling me.

I’m not going to lie. I kind of lost it. You know when you are turning into a crazy person and there is nothing you can do about it because that train has already left the station? Yeah, that was me.

Me: Wow. I didn’t know the DMV was in the business of TRASH collection. Because that’s what it was. TRASH. And if you all need trash so badly, I certainly have some trash I could bring you. LET ME SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER!!!!!!

Needless to say, I left the DMV that day and went to the police station to file the report to an officer who thought it was as ludicrous as I did.

I wish that was the end of the story, but sadly, it’s not.

Because last week at a dinner party hosted by the boyfriend for his high school buddies and their significant others, a girl tells me I look familiar.

And we started playing the game. Where do you hang out? Where do you live? Where do you work?

She works at the DMV.

The boyfriend then turned to me and said, “Babe, you didn’t go off on her that day in the DMV, did you?”

I turned as white as a ghost.

It was her.

I wanted to die.