The Changeover

I moved to Cleveland in June and have been clinging desperately to my western roots ever since. This is not necessarily a reflection of how I feel about Ohio, because, actually, I am quite enjoying myself here. Rather it's more a reflection of how I feel about Oregon. I love flashing my Oregon license when I check into a EUG or PDX-bound flight at Cleveland Hopkins. Maybe the worker checking me in is thinking with some amount of affectionate satisfaction, "She's going home." I can assure you that's what I'm thinking. I love my Oregon plates, how they mark me as different from my Ohio compatriots, and, at the very least, add a much-needed splash of green to the front and back of my car. Not to mention the ridiculousness of needing to change any of this in the first place. A license is a license. Insurance is insurance. Real life, get off my back already. Needless to say, I have been stalling. But ten months and one run-in with a police officer later, I have officially made the switch. Read on.

After switching my car insurance (I believe I mentioned the staggering 150% premium increase in a previous post), the next item of business was my car itself. The local vehicle/license bureau was advertised online as a one-stop-shop, which it absolutely was not. In fact, the only thing they could take care of when I first showed up and unloaded all my paperwork and identification on their counter was the measly VIN inspection. I held my breath, not because I drive a stolen car, but because I worried the lady with the clipboard would say something about my illegally-tinted windows. She didn't. What she did do was tell me I had to go to the title office and an emissions check station before returning for my registration.

The title office was somewhat less than noteworthy, although I was a little surprised to find myself raising my right hand and swearing that all the information I had given was accurate. They weren't messing around. As for the emissions test, I had no idea what to expect. See, we have fresh air in Oregon, so I'd never needed to have one before. After being instructed by the nice worker man to get out of the car and wait in the "booth," (a hallway lined with windows, allowing us to watch our cars) he said, "You ought to see if they'll let you keep your plates. Those are a lot nicer than Ohio plates." Thank you. My point exactly. When my car was at the second of three stations, one of the worker boys looked at me through the glass and gave me a thumbs up. But I didn't know if it meant 'you passed,' or 'your car is sweet, dig the tint,' or maybe he was just saying hello. I did pass, and I've since learned that unless your check engine light is on, you're going to pass. So...why are the tests necessary then? I'm just throwing that out there.

Title and emissions print-out in hand, I was finally awarded a set of plates at the registration office. These plates are so exciting that they actually have...wait for it...a blue stripe AND a red stripe. Something about Ohio being the birthplace of aviation is written on the bottom, but none of this has even one tenth the personality of the Oregon plate and its tree. And so even after receiving the new plates, they sat in my house for days. Partly because I couldn't bring myself to put them on, but mostly because I literally COULDN'T put them on. The bolts keeping the Oregon plates on were screwed so tightly that I needed to buy some kind of tool to get them off. Side note: I am now the proud owner of an ingenious little number known as a Leatherman.

Now I just needed a license. Enter Saturday morning. Now, I had been under the impression that I could simply trade my Oregon license in. Not so, my friends. I was pointed to a computer and sentenced to a 40-question test. First question: correct. Easy! This test will be cake. Second question: wrong. Third question: wrong. Fourth question: wrong. At about this point I began to seriously freak out. At this rate, I would fail before I was even halfway through. For the record, the questions were nutso. How old do you have to be to ride in the flatbed of a truck? Why would I know that? Which direction should you look when approaching an intersection? Left, right, then left again is the correct answer, but I had no idea. Who is required to wear a seatbelt? Um, everyone? That's what you'd think, as I did, but you'd be wrong. Apparently in Ohio, only the people in the front of the car are required to buckle up. I had soon answered all but the 5 questions I had skipped. I had to get at least one of them right, or I would fail. First question: wrong. I stole a glance back at the counter, hoping the lady who had taken my Oregon license would give it back to me if I failed. I got the next question right, and the screen flashed that I had passed. My only other challenge was convincing the lady snapping the pictures that yes, I really did look like just-rolled-out-of-bed crap, and there was nothing she could do about it. I sat smiling, and she hesitated. Motioning to the side of her face, she said "could you just put the hair behind your ear?" My hair was already in a ponytail, but I acquiesced and tucked back what had been blown out by the windy day. But she still wouldn't take the picture. "And now the other one?" she asked as she motioned to her other side. And that is how my Ohio license picture came to look like my hair is purposely slicked.

Moral of the story: Even if you aren't actually giving them up, it's hard to FEEL like you're giving up your roots. Because they run deep. Or the moral could be that registering a car in Ohio is a pain in the butt. It's a toss up.