The Dregs of Hell and the DMV

Anyone who used to read my blogs for the Boston Business Journal knows about my now 5-month long existential crisis over changing my name. I was against it, then for it, then completely unsure. Right before I got married I thought I came up with a good system: I would change my name legally but still go with "J-No" professionally. But I did nothing with those plans at the time; John had received notice of his new job and the likelihood I would be moving out of state and thus need a new license was strong.

Today at the DMV I finally had an opportunity to take that big step in married life. I sidestepped it.

New York State is particularly annoying when it comes to things like licenses, even more so than Massachusetts' ridiculously named RMV. At least Mass. was up front when they lopped of dozens of offices and staff, giving the techno-savvy a way to figure out when the office is least crowded and go then as well as many more opportunities to skip the visit altogether. New York, not so much.

So on a Friday afternoon, after the lunch rush and before the teenagers I thought, I dragged myself over to the Garden City RMV with my old license, passport, social security card, birth certificate, piece of mail, marriage certificate and a three-year old calf to sacrifice to the gods of Albany. (They probably would have wanted my first born if I had one.) I had checked to make sure my license had the date of renewal on it, just like the instructions on the DMV Web site said, and I was on my way.

But as I was driving on the Meadowbrook Parkway, I had a revelation: getting a new license with my married name on it was just the beginning. There was the social security administration, my passport, my work files and the piles of creditors that would have to be notified as well. And I am flying in two weeks: how would I get on the plane without my official license? (There is my passport, which I will have to carry around with me for beer purchases anyway.) Not only was the process going to be arduous, it would be expensive. On top of the license fee, I would have to pay an extra $10 to the DMV and a whopping $95 to get a new passport. All this for just official purposes; I planned on continuing to use my maiden name for all intents and purposes.

I panicked. This is too annoying, too expensive for something that really has no bearing on my status as a married woman anyway. John said he didn't really mind if I kept my maiden name and I'm not such a feminist to be offended if someone calls me Mrs. Thompson anyway. And if we have children, I can always revisit the topic.

So by the time I got to the DMV I had made up my mind, the name change was not for today. And good thing, because when I walked into the cesspool of government bureaucracy I immediately bunkered down into survival mode. Just get me in and out, whatever it takes and whomever I have to deal with.

It took 2 hours, $66, and a visit to 4 different desks (one a processing line, one an ID verification and eye exam line, one a photo line, and one to actually get my temporary ID and pay) to arise from the ashes. Other people were not so lucky.

Some people would say I am just being lazy about changing my name. I say I'm picking my battles, and the last place I want to wage war is in the DMV.