My New Driver's License

I renewed my Philippine driver's license last time I was home and paid a penalty of 75 pesos for not doing it on time. I was one week late! And I had to go through again the usual procedures. Drug test and medical exam. For the drug test I was asked to pee in a small jar,  the size of a small pomade jar. For those not familiar with the word, pomade was a grooming-must for men (brands like Emilia,Tancho Tique and so on) years long before hair gel and  hair spray came into fashion. Talk of antiquities!
  
While doing my business, someone knocked on the toilet door. "Jez' a minute!" I screamed. It was the clinic's secretary telling me to leave the door open. When I reappeared in the room I said in a loud voice for everybody to hear that I wasn't doing anything that wouldn't qualify as pissing only! Ostensibly, the door was to be left wide open to ensure that you don't dilute the urine with something forbidden. And that there were times when applicants have to be accompanied by a clinic personnel, apparently to watch, what else, to which I said pissing was for me not an easy thing to do especially in the presence of a voyeur.

The waiting room was small and crowded and on the wall facing the toilet hangs a mirror so that everybody could see you standing there squeezing your crown jewel when your were done. After me was a woman who had to do the same procedure. How she did it with that tiny pomade jar I had no idea! I didn't look at her reflection in the mirror. I couldn't care less. While I was generous with my specimen, the lady was Modesty personified. Boy, her jar was almost empty! I knew because everybody had to put the jar on top of the secretary's desk where everybody could see whose urine specimen was clear, hazy, or golden. And the desk was located right in front of the entrance door, where the gap between the door and desk was not even half a meter.

The secretary would then write down your name on the application form and ask you about your civil status. I said divorced when it was my turn. Everybody in the room looked at me like it was the most obscene word they ever heard. You were supposed to tell her if you had taken any medication during the last month. I was curious how those in the room would have reacted had I said I took viagra several times during the last month.

The application forms piling up on the secretary's desk were then collected by another personnel - a woman - who would then disappear in another room but only to reappear again with one application form in hand. She would ask the owner of the form about his/her highest educational attainment, the name of the parents, and if they were still alive. An applicant who appeared to be as ancient as any ancient Chinese secret cooking recipe could be  (you will wonder why he needed a driving license at this stage) was asked the same questions. I think I choked when he was asked if his parents were still alive. I got a dagger look from the lady asking the questions, as if telling me not to mess up with her because she was just doing her job. You bet!

At long last, my name was called - by someone else inside the clinic who turned out to be the chief medical technologist. He took my fingerprints and when done asked about my civil status. I thought it was already mentioned in my application form. Divorced, I said. The woman who wanted to know if your parents were still alive was by now in the same room, heard the question, and without batting an eyelash interpreted my reply. Separated! This finally convinced me that the word divorce was not only obscene; it was also filthy you don't mention it when in the Philippines.

How the clinic could determine in a short span of time - from pee collection to lab analysis - that I was clean was beyond me. I passed the drug test based on the urine specimen which I suspect didn't even get analyzed. After paying the 300-peso fee I was sent to another clinic for further medical examinations. Further medical examinations meant taking your height and weight measurements, and then eye test. Eye test was  mainly identifying the smallest letters on the optical chart. Getting your weight was another.

The weighing scale showed I was 70 kg. that morning; clothes and all. I pointed out that the scale showed 69 kg. to which the person taking note said Ok, if I insist. Of course I insist, a kilo matters! Last time I left Vienna, and it was just a couple of days ago, I measured 1 m and 70 cm tall. Here I was, standing 1 m and 63 cm short! I protested so I was asked to stand once more against the printed height measuring scale hanging on the wall. Naturally I measured 1.63 because the printed paper scale was hanging half a meter high from the floor! According to my old Philippine DL I was 1.70 so I wouldn't relent to this idiot who insisted that I might have shrunk since the last time I got my driver's license. That was in Dec. 2008 and we were now in Dec.of 2011! In the end they put me back to 1.70 and was asked to pay 100 pesos. That was for telling me that people do shrink - especially difficult old people like me!

Having done that I was instructed to return to another office to submit the results of my medical exam. I was asked to sit down and wait until my name was called. There were several counters identified numerically and each counter had a microphone to address you by name - made you feel good that you were being treated as a  human being, not just a number. A feeling that lasted for a fleeting second when your name was called and you didn't know which counter to approach because each counter was calling someone for something else. Didn't I say the counters were identified by numbers and not by the name it was supposed to represent? Sure, you were sitting there facing the counters but not everybody was that lucky to be sitting where you could see which counter was calling you. There was this counter where you submit your medical exams, then a counter where they take your picture, you pay the bill at another counter, then finally a counter where they issue your driver's license.

Sitting there listening to the fee-collection counter, I counted the times when each applicant would be asked if he/she had 18 pesos. You see, the fee was 518 pesos but it was most likely that the applicant would fish out 520 pesos. And each time the woman behind the counter would ask if she could just keep the change because she ran out of small change. What was 2 pesos anyways, you said. Come on, how many applicants were there the whole day, Monday to Friday with no exact 18 pesos in his/her pocket?

I was no exception. But I was  just too happy to get my brand new DL valid for 3 years to care if I left the place 2 pesos poorer!