I took my teenager to the DMV this week to get his license. I can’t help but feel as if we got away with something — if not a crime, then at least somebody’s better judgment.
When we got to the front of the line, the worker (whose cheery disposition broke all stereotypes about DMV employees) pointed to the chair right next to her so my son could get his picture taken.
Without looking up from his phone, he sat down in one of the general chairs people wait in. The employee and I exchanged looks.
“I have one of those, too,” she said, and an unspoken bond passed between us.