Through another whole crazy sequence of events, I managed to lose my license a while back, so I needed to get a new one from the DMV. I put off obtaining an ID until after moving again two weeks ago so I could have my updated contact information.
After waiting forty minutes and filling out some paperwork, I finally had the chance to meet a DMV employee face-to-face. As she began processing the paperwork, she told me that there was a problem: I had been red-flagged. “Uh oh, why?” I asked. The computer didn’t tell her anything beyond that I was on a do-not-process list, so she went to get her manager. The manager also couldn’t immediately determine why I had been red-flagged and asked me to guess a possible reason to expedite the process.
Why would Big Brother be concerned about me? I proceeded to go through my sordid traffic/criminal record in great detail, which was kind of embarrassing especially since I don’t exactly brag about my past tickets. After talking through everything I could think of that I’ve ever done wrong, including some things I’ve never been caught for, and totally venturing into too-much-information territory, the manager finally cut me off and said none of that would be reason for being red-flagged. At first I regretted saying so much, but then I worried: so it’s something worse than that? I don’t think I’ve done something worse than that!
The DMV employee took my passport, I guess in case I decided to suddenly run knowing they were on to me! In the meantime, the manager got on the phone to call the state office to see if they could identify the source of the red-flagging. I sat waiting nervously for another hour until she got back to me. “Have you ever lived at [my college address]?” “Yeah, I went to college there,” I explained. “Well, for some reason, that’s the problem,” she said. She was still on hold for a further explanation, so I just had to wait nervously some more.
I never had any traffic infractions while at college, but I did do a lot of stupid shit, like any college kid might. But why would my college report me to the DMV? Oh, I sure hoped they didn’t tell the government about my drunken antics.
Another half hour passes, and it comes to light that Big Brother is concerned that I am either the victim or perpetrator of identity theft. Now the burden was on me to prove that I was, in fact, me. Did I have legitimate identification? No, I had come to obtain identification! Attempting to prove that I am who I say I am was an overwhelming process, because when it all came down to it, I couldn’t really do it. Here I was trapped in the DMV under suspicion of stealing an identity… my own identity! I nearly broke into tears as I voiced my frustration. “I haven’t had an easy life the past year! I’m unemployed and [allusion to some of the issues I unnecessarily explained to the DMV employees either]! If I was going to steal an identity right now, it wouldn’t be my own!”
After a more thorough search was conducted, I learned that my nomadic tendencies over the past few years had finally caught up to me. The reason it looked like I – or someone – was committing identity theft was because:
- I’m still registered to vote and actively vote using my college address.
- I’m registered to collect unemployment benefits from the government at my last apartment, a second address.
- My missing driver’s license lists a third address, the house I lived at six months ago.
- My only legitimate photo identification has me living at a fourth address in Connecticut.
- I am currently requesting a new ID for an entirely new fifth address.
Hell, after recognizing all of the incongruities, even I thought maybe someone was stealing my identity. Except that all of those personas were me, and there was no one committing voter fraud or defrauding the government of money as they suspected.
Ultimately, I was allowed to sign an affidavit claiming that I was all of these people, or rather, that all of these people were me. One employee, before signing off on my extensive paperwork said, “You’re so nice, why so many problems?” in a thick Ukrainian accent. Indeed, at this point, this random woman knew more about my life’s woes than many of my friends, and I could only shake my head. I posed for a new photo and can expect to get my ID in a couple weeks.
On the drive home, I started simultaneously laughing and crying at the absurdity of the entire ordeal. It was just too much. Plus, I found it ridiculous that after worrying that I was some sort of con man trying to obtain a new ID to continue my rouse, all they required me to do was sign my name that I was who I said was. I could so easily steal my own identity!
My name’s not really Kevin, by the way. I’ve been pulling over an elaborate hoax for years now, and they were this close to finally catching me.
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