The Georgia Identity

The reason I didn't start work this week is because a) I'm not insane and b) I am still an illegal alien in the state of Georgia. The time has come at long last for me to surrender my NC self and convert back to a true Georgian.

First step, the DL. Getting a driver's license in any state under any conditions is generally a pain. But this time around, it was downright humiliating. I had to provide proof of residence - you know, bank statement (not converted to GA yet), utility bill (not in my name), canceled rent check (nonexistent), or proof of employment (sighs...aha). So I was forced to email the HR director at my new job to request a letter of employment since I'm living with my parents and have no other proof of residence. Yes, I had to make it overtly clear to my new employer that I live at home. The experience itself was rather painless - even though I went to the DMV armed with the iPod, Northanger Abbey and a notebook for thoughts and observations during what I estimated would be an interminable wait. They called my number before I could even get the forms filled out.

I have to say that it was with some sadness and definite reluctance that I surrendered my NC driver's license to the examiner. That license is like a badge of honor, and I have a particularly fond memory of the day I got it (even though the NC examiner called me a cyclops because of my terrible vision in one eye). [An aside to the great state of Georgia - please improve your camera equipment. My license photo looks like it was taken with a bad camera phone in a bar. And the composition. It's not flattering to any lady to have a photo that cuts right across the middle of her bustline. But I digress.] Plus, the state requires me to send my plate back, too. The injustice!

As I trade in my planes for peaches, I can't shake the feeling that I'm surrendering a little bit too much. And perhaps it's horrible to admit, but I suddenly feel Just Like Everybody Else. Like somehow, having gone outside the bounds of Georgia qualified me as Being Different. It's like some sort of superhero who gives up her powers for the good of mankind and agrees to live like a mere mortal among them. I had taken the road less traveled and then I backtracked all that way to the most benign, most familiar of lanes. At least now, it's legal for me to drive on them.