Chapter 8
Finding yourself in a fine pickle. I liked pickles, so I never got on board with this saying, but today I supposed the meaning of it applied.
I needed to open a bank account, sell my car, and renew my license—a fine pickle indeed.
I figured the bank and car dealership would require a license, so I needed to start the day at the unhappiest place on earth.
I checked my outfit one last time before heading out. I recalled someone saying one time that you should dress for the day you wanted. In a teal floral maxi skirt and a bright-white T-shirt with a few well-placed curls in my hair, I dressed for a fresh, optimistic day.
“Here goes nothing.” I gave my reflection a determined nod and left.
I pulled up to the Department of Motor Vehicles and grimaced. A line at least twenty deep had already formed by the door. They all had the same idea as me to arrive before it opened.
I gathered my bag, the paperwork, my resolve, and took it all with me to my place in line.
Forty minutes later, someone called my number. Not terrible but not great either. I stepped up to the tall counter and said good morning, to which I received no reply.
The frowning woman with zero personality barely spared me a glance. “How may I help you?” The name tag pinned to her blouse only held two initials. L. J. I wondered if they stood for Least Joyful.
“I need to renew my driver’s license.” I handed her the paperwork from rehab and the form I had filled out while waiting in line.
I know DMV workers are not known for their sunny dispositions, but I stood there and witnessed this one’s cool attitude turn downright frosty. Without saying a word, she attacked her keyboard, punishing it for her grievances with me, apparently.
“The reinstatement fee for a suspended license is one hundred dollars.” Did she just say that louder than necessary?
“Oh, uh, okay.” It pained me to part with most of my cash supply, but I had no other choice. I fished out two twenties, five tens, four fives, and held them out to her. By L. J.’s sour face you would have thought I’d handed her a used tissue.
With just her fingertips, the peeved woman recounted the money. She tossed two fives back to my side of the counter. “You counted wrong.”
Why don’t you keep it and try buying yourself a personality? “Oops. Sorry about that.” I managed a smile.
Did L. J. reply? Of course not. She turned and walked over to a clerk’s desk right behind the counter.
“Cash?” the colleague quipped.
“She just got out of rehab. Who knows where she got it from.” L. J. showed off my paperwork. They whispered something, then glanced up and met my eyes, showing no shame at all in judging me.
“Do you ladies have a question? I’m a natural blonde if you’re wondering.”
They looked away and got back to work. L. J. took her sweet time returning with the receipt, Frisbeeing it across the counter. I slapped a palm on top of it to prevent it from flying away.
“Read line five.” She pointed to the vision exam machine.
“Can I get a cleansing wipe first?”
Sighing, she tossed the little packet to my side of the counter. Who did this heifer think she was?
With trembling hands, I cleaned the front of the machine, rested my forehead on the right spot and rattled off the letters.
“Go to the end for your picture.” L. J. walked off with no other instructions.
I met her at the photo-taking station and stood on the X on the floor.
“Sign your full name on this screen.” L. J. tapped the name pad with a pen.
I stepped forward and used the attached pen to write my name. Then I returned to the X, hoping to get this over with already.
“Look straight ahead. Okay, you’re done.”
I blinked. “Wait. What? I wasn’t ready.” I gazed at the lens, wondering why it didn’t flash or anything. “Couldn’t you have given me some kind of warning?”
She typed something on the computer behind the camera. “We’ll call you when it’s done.”
“But . . . can we take it again?” I asked with no response.
L. J. returned to her spot at the long counter of misery and called for the next in line.
Fuming, I sat in one of the plastic chairs.
Over the next twenty minutes my fuming grew to boiling.
I waited as four more people got their photos, being allowed time to prepare.
I waited some more as all four received their licenses and went on their merry ways.
Shoot, one woman was permitted to retake her photo because she wanted her hair over her shoulder.
Fed up, I crossed the room and cut in line. “Sorry, sir. This shouldn’t take but a second.” I gave the man an apologetic smile, then directed a frown at L. J. “I just need my license.”
“Didn’t I say we’d call you when it’s ready?”
“I believe you forgot me. Four other people got theirs and they were behind me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Your name?”
“Juniper Wilder.” I had to say it through clenched teeth to keep from yelling it.
“I’ll check once I finish with this gentleman you jumped.”
With no other choice, I returned to the plastic chair. Fifteen minutes passed by before L. J. finally called my name.
“I was wondering . . .” I snatched the license from her hand. “Does L. J. stand for Lousy Jerk?”
She glared. “What?”
“Seriously, Lousy Jerk, I hope you never make a mistake of any kind and have someone treat you the way you’ve treated me while working on righting your wrongs.” I turned on my heel and stormed out.
I reached the car and braved checking the license. Red-faced with squinted eyes and a harsh frown. I’d never be able to look at this photo and not see and feel the humiliation.
*
Grinning like a possum eating a sweet potato. Another familiar saying popped into my head as I squinted at the smarmy car salesman. Pickles, now potatoes. I feared what was next.
I motioned toward my car. “But it has less than ninety thousand miles on it.”
Howey played with the top button of his green polo shirt, never losing his flashy smile. “But there’s a dent on the side and it needs new tires.”
Frowning, I crossed my arms. “We’re still talking about a three-year-old Mercedes.”
“I bought one just like it at the sale last week for less than what I’m offering you. Fifteen is my final offer, sweetheart.” Patronizing possum, acting like he was doing me a favor.
Arlo paid almost triple that after winning a hundred and twenty-five grand on a scratch-off ticket.
He bought us both new vehicles, me a proper wedding ring set, and blew through the rest of the money within a week.
The rings, my car, and his motorcycle were all we had to show for his winnings.
Then he wrecked the motorcycle. Now only the rings and car remained.
I needed the money too much to hold on to it any longer.
My eyes and nose began to sting.
“Aww, don’t cry . . .” Howey ran a hand over his receding brown hair. “Tell ya what. I’ll give you sixteen for it and I’ll even give you a ride home.” He grinned wide, flashing bright-white teeth.
“Fine.” I stomped past him, ignoring his outreached hand. No way was I shaking on this offer. We both knew he was ripping me off and I was desperate enough to let him.
After signing the paperwork and receiving my check, Howey brought me home like he promised.
I went inside and retrieved the keys to Olla’s car, then backtracked outside.
The crushed seashells crunched underfoot as I picked my way across the path leading to the detached garage.
I punched in the code and the door whirled up, revealing Olla’s baby.
An older model Cadillac Escalade, in pristine condition other than a thin layer of dust muting the champagne paint job.
I slid behind the wheel, taking a moment to adjust the mirrors and seat. Even though this was a nice SUV, it seemed prehistoric to have to use an actual key instead of pressing a start button.
“Please, please, please,” I chanted, twisting the key in the ignition. It hesitated for a moment before firing up. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Carefully, I backed out onto the narrow road and took off down Middle Street. It felt like driving a tank compared to my small sedan.
As I recrossed the bridge, it started to drizzle.
I fiddled with the controls until figuring out how to turn on the windshield wipers.
Instead of swiping the rain away, the blades tripped over the glass.
Apparently dry rot had gotten the better of them.
Shreds of black dangled in the wind like pull-and-peel licorice.
“Figures.” Not too keen on hanging my head out the window, I swung by an automotive store to get new wipers. Thankfully that was a pretty cheap fix.
After the store clerk helped me change the blades, I loaded back up and twisted the key in the ignition. This time nothing happened. “No, girl. You can’t do this to me.”
I tried again. Nothing.
I gathered my bag and went inside the store once again.
“Back so soon, young lady?”
I took the time to read his name badge this time. “Hi, Greg. Yes.” I hitched a thumb over my shoulder. “The darn thing won’t crank now.”
“Let’s test the battery.” He grabbed a doohickey and led me outside. “Pop the hood for me.”
It took thirty minutes to figure out it needed an alternator and I would be out six hundred and fifty more dollars. I wanted to cry, to call Cy and have him fix this, to just walk away, but none of those were options I could afford. I had to learn to do all these things on my own.
“We have a garage on the back of the store for easy fixes, like this.” Greg tapped the small box holding the part needed to get me on my way.
“How fast can it be done?”
Greg checked his computer. “Maybe a few hours. Our mechanic only has two other vehicles ahead of yours. You might want to get someone to pick you up.”
I swallowed with difficulty. I had no one I could call on a whim to pick me up.
As if sensing my distress, Greg spoke up. “We have a waiting area. It has a coffee station and a snack machine. You’re welcome to hang out there.”