The Feast: 34th edition, Part I
The 2005 Feast is history. This 34th edition was at what has become the normal setting – the beach. Prior to the Feast I tried to remember where I had been each year. I discovered the interesting fact that 30 of my 34 feasts have been at beach sites and exactly half of them have been spent in Florida. None have been outside the South. So in my mind, the feast has to have sand, shore, crashing waves, suntan lotion, heat, ocean breezes, and threats of hurricanes. This year’s feast at Clearwater met ALL of the requirements.
The trip began as usual – I waited until the night before we left to pack. (And contrary to a doubting post somewhere else, I got it done and we were able to leave at 8:12 AM.) However, a little while before we were to leave, I made a heart-stopping discovery. For some unexplained reason, I opened my wallet, but not to check my money and credit cards. I pulled out my driver’s license. Normally, I have no need to verify my name, age, address, or birth date – or to remind myself how I looked five years ago. Five years ago? That’s right!! On August 29, 2005, my license expired. What to do?? The DMV is not open on Sunday. Oh, how wonderful to be between the rock and the hard place. Do I delay the trip so I can have the joy of going to the DMV and throwing myself on their unmerciful and impenitent hearts? Or, do I throw caution to the wind and hit the interstate in the Jetta with an expired license? (For the uninitiated, the Jetta has a mind of its own and refuses to go below 85 miles an hour as it rockets down I-85 or I-40 near Gallup, New Mexico. Or 100 miles an hour when on the Mojave Desert or when passing the Ridgeways.)
I throw caution to the wind. I reason that if I get caught, I get caught. I decide that I will just trust God to put a cloaking device around the Jetta. But just in case, I will try, try, try to obey the speed limit and go unnoticed. Was I successful? It was a battle, one which I did not always win. But the entire feast passed and I did not get stopped one time. Then we started the trip home. I must have spotted 75 highway patrolmen, city police and county deputy sheriffs as we traversed the interstate highways and back roads through Florida, Georgia, and South Carolina. I have never seen so many police in one day in my whole life. I have never seen that many police over many, many days, months or years. They were all over the place. It must have been National Highway Patrol and Police Force Memorial Day. They were celebrating by stopping as many motorists as possible to spread the joy of their observance. Just east of Easley, I saw some policeman appear to be doing some serious brutality. Somehow, I escaped their dragnet. I made it back through 700 miles of minefields and pulled the Jetta into the drive after midnight last night.
Then today I went to the DMV. I wondered what penalty I was about to incur. Are jail cots comfortable? Would they care that I don’t eat unclean meats? Does it hurt to be handcuffed? Would they beat me with the billy (or is that bully?) stick? When I got there, the guy ahead of me had let his license expire too. I really did not look forward to rooming with him in the Walhalla Hilton, better known as the Law Enforcement Center or LEC. Why do they use three words when the word “Jail” says it so nicely? I suppose it sounds better to say, “I spent the night at the Law Enforcement Center” than to say, “They put me in jail.” I wonder - do they put the privileged people in the LEC when they run afoul of the law and put the unprivileged in Jail?
So I got my number – 36, filled out the paperwork, sat until called, had my picture taken, signed my name for the third time, waited some more, and finally got my new, renewed official South Carolina driver’s license. No one seemed to care that my license had expired. I walked out a free man. No handcuffs, no LEC (I mean jail), no burly policeman with Krispy Kreme crumbs on his lips. Somehow the cloaking device worked at the DMV office too.
But now I worry a new worry. Who will remind me to go to the DMV on August 29, 2015?
The trip began as usual – I waited until the night before we left to pack. (And contrary to a doubting post somewhere else, I got it done and we were able to leave at 8:12 AM.) However, a little while before we were to leave, I made a heart-stopping discovery. For some unexplained reason, I opened my wallet, but not to check my money and credit cards. I pulled out my driver’s license. Normally, I have no need to verify my name, age, address, or birth date – or to remind myself how I looked five years ago. Five years ago? That’s right!! On August 29, 2005, my license expired. What to do?? The DMV is not open on Sunday. Oh, how wonderful to be between the rock and the hard place. Do I delay the trip so I can have the joy of going to the DMV and throwing myself on their unmerciful and impenitent hearts? Or, do I throw caution to the wind and hit the interstate in the Jetta with an expired license? (For the uninitiated, the Jetta has a mind of its own and refuses to go below 85 miles an hour as it rockets down I-85 or I-40 near Gallup, New Mexico. Or 100 miles an hour when on the Mojave Desert or when passing the Ridgeways.)
I throw caution to the wind. I reason that if I get caught, I get caught. I decide that I will just trust God to put a cloaking device around the Jetta. But just in case, I will try, try, try to obey the speed limit and go unnoticed. Was I successful? It was a battle, one which I did not always win. But the entire feast passed and I did not get stopped one time. Then we started the trip home. I must have spotted 75 highway patrolmen, city police and county deputy sheriffs as we traversed the interstate highways and back roads through Florida, Georgia, and South Carolina. I have never seen so many police in one day in my whole life. I have never seen that many police over many, many days, months or years. They were all over the place. It must have been National Highway Patrol and Police Force Memorial Day. They were celebrating by stopping as many motorists as possible to spread the joy of their observance. Just east of Easley, I saw some policeman appear to be doing some serious brutality. Somehow, I escaped their dragnet. I made it back through 700 miles of minefields and pulled the Jetta into the drive after midnight last night.
Then today I went to the DMV. I wondered what penalty I was about to incur. Are jail cots comfortable? Would they care that I don’t eat unclean meats? Does it hurt to be handcuffed? Would they beat me with the billy (or is that bully?) stick? When I got there, the guy ahead of me had let his license expire too. I really did not look forward to rooming with him in the Walhalla Hilton, better known as the Law Enforcement Center or LEC. Why do they use three words when the word “Jail” says it so nicely? I suppose it sounds better to say, “I spent the night at the Law Enforcement Center” than to say, “They put me in jail.” I wonder - do they put the privileged people in the LEC when they run afoul of the law and put the unprivileged in Jail?
So I got my number – 36, filled out the paperwork, sat until called, had my picture taken, signed my name for the third time, waited some more, and finally got my new, renewed official South Carolina driver’s license. No one seemed to care that my license had expired. I walked out a free man. No handcuffs, no LEC (I mean jail), no burly policeman with Krispy Kreme crumbs on his lips. Somehow the cloaking device worked at the DMV office too.
But now I worry a new worry. Who will remind me to go to the DMV on August 29, 2015?
posted by Manuel at 11:30 PM
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