I passed by the skin of teeth. That's all right. I really didn't need skin on my teeth in the first place.
The DMV is quite the sociological study. Everyone needs to drive thus an interesting cross-section of humanity emerges. You have the well-coiffed rich girl, with the shiney three-inch black heels and the immaculate makeup and the Texas-sized rock on her left ring finger and you have the shifty-eyed dude who looks about as comfortable immersed in that mass of jabbering and cell-phone talking and politely-burping humanity as a goose in a hockey rink.
Then there was the guy that I have seen in a few AA meetings. I'd like to say that we made eye-contact and shared a super-secret "I know you, you know me" head nod, but...no. In all seriousness, it seemed to me that he was avoiding making eye contact with me. Which is just as well. Actually, I couldn't care less. What would we have chatted about? "So, uh, you're a friend of Bill W.'s? How's it going?" And then he would say, "Uh, good. Good. I'm still off the sauce. You?" Then I would say, "Oh. Sure. Um. Yup. I'm feeling pretty good." Then we would look at each other and nod vaguely and find the line of people amazingly interesting. And our shoes would probably be fascinating new discoveries, as well. Watches would be looked at and pocket change would be jiggled. "Okay! Good luck, man!"
Anyway. Like I was saying, I passed by the nonexistent skin of my teeth. I brought the three tests up to the Southern-drawling older lady named--I'm serious--Bessy, and she checked the answers and then allowed me to look over what I had missed. The first test, 50 questions, was a general knowledge test and, looking over what I had missed, I would have seriously kicked myself if I had not passed. You can miss 10 questions and still pass; I missed 10 questions. And about seven of them were questions to which I knew the answers. I must have been in a rush. I must have filled in the wrong bubble. In my defense, though, taking a test in the DMV is basically as soothing as taking a test in a DMZ. Cell phones, people talking and laughing, rustling of newspapers and magazines, staffers calling out numbers...these are all very unconducive to rapt attention on what, essentially, is a test that is about as exciting as watching paint dry. And the foreign lady behind me who insisted on reading all the questions aloud to herself? Oy vey. I'm sure that it helped her grasp the slippery English language better, but--damn!
Hey kidz! Would you like to have fun?! Would you like to play along at home?! Go to this website and you too can take practice CDL tests! Trust me. It's as fun as watching a barrel of monkeys...well...monkey around.
And now a bit of negative news: I went to the doctor last week to get blood tests--just for the hell of it--and I got the results in the mail today. All was good except for my cholesterol level was elevated and they want me to set up an appointment to discuss the results. Here is what that discussion will sound like: "Adam. You need to eat better and exercise more. And, also, smoking hardens your arteries, you know, thus making the disease of atherosclerosis more attainable. It gives it a foothold, as it were." And then this is where I will say, "Okay, Doctor Hasbany. I will get right on that." Seriously, though, this is not anything with which to fuck around. I know that.
Then why, oh why, did I just get back from Lombard's wherein an extra-large pizza pie was purchased? I'll start my new and improved exercise regiment...tomorrow. Scout's honor.