My tale of travails of procuring a new licence

Whenever I’m asked to produce an ID, it is always my driving licence that is pulled out of my purse. It seems to present itself even before I make a conscious decision to display it.

By now almost everyone I know is aware of my aversion to being behind the wheel. There are many who simply cannot understand why I choose not to drive in spite of having the credentials. Let me say in my defence that I’ve tried it and it was always a trial.

The other day I received an SMS from the Roads and Transport Authority (RTA) informing me that my licence was due for renewal. I was taken aback by the reminder as it didn’t seem like ten years had already gone by. Memories of the driving lessons ‑ the look on the face of the instructor whenever I did something that wasn’t to her liking, the flush of excitement on passing the road test ‑ flashed before my eyes. I briefly considered not bothering to renew it as I couldn’t see myself getting over my phobia. However, the phrase “Never say never” must have come to mind and I made the decision to go for it.

Preliminary research left me confused by contradictory information. Someone told me with great assurance that the process was a piece of cake. All I had to do was to go to the Co-op building near Safa Park and present myself at the one-stop shop where I could get the eye test and other procedures done in the blink of an eye. Being a sceptic, I asked around some more only to be told by another who had just gone through the process that that location had closed down.

I decided to get the eye test done which was the only part that was easy. There were no hiccups here. After googling for information, I was somehow convinced there was a traffic office at Deira City Centre.

On the day my licence was to expire, I caught the Metro heading towards this location. I encountered the first road block here. I was informed that this office had shut down some time ago but I could go to Al Barsha. Now this name is familiar to me because of the Mall of the Emirates. The Metro was boarded once again. After alighting and inquiring, I was told that I should have got off one station earlier. Not one to admit defeat easily, I retraced my steps and found myself at the right station.

Soon I was outside the gleaming structure. Oddly enough, there was no crowd. Congratulating myself on choosing the right day, I walked to the glass door and pulled the handle, only to be met with resistance. The door wouldn’t open. Looking around helplessly I caught the eye of a gardener who mentioned oh so casually that it was a Saturday. That’s when it struck me that although it was a working day for me, it wasn’t for most others.

With drooping shoulders I caught the Metro to work. But the next day I was back at the same place. I told myself that this time nothing could go wrong. I was in the right place on the right day.

As I walked in through a door that actually opened at my approach, I read a notice posted on the reception desk. ‘System down’, it read. My heart sank only to bob up again when a worker there told me that I should wait. In my desperation, I decided to trust his intuition. And lo and behold, a few minutes later all was well again with my world.

The RTA personnel I interacted with that day were so affable that all my travails were forgotten. And guess what? I actually look quite human in the photo — definitely not to be mistaken for the mugshot of a criminal.