little misses

typos
have a way of following
yesterday's little misses, summer flings
back, from that one appointment
in California, 2018
our eyes met at the DMV

It was meant to be
a simple license renewal, please
straight-forward
every 5 years, catch and release

I wait in line
since last time, some numbers changed on my street
“are those your glasses?”
first time, I hear her speak
“uh, yes” I say, vaguely aware that I’m wearing
the new pair: black frame, no flair
they do help me see her a little better
silence taps an annotation
“OK, we’re all set here
next window, please”
all that remains is quiet
plodding, awkward progress
Escher-hopping turnstiles
municipal hand in my wallet
spun around, still standing in place

Later, the final product arrives
a shiny hologram, full of mistakes
some, I wouldn’t feel ‘til years later
looking backward:
how did they get my city wrong?
it doesn’t even match the zip code
and what’s that: a space in my middle name?
lower, now: a new restriction
corrected lenses required to drive?
why?
don’t know whether to laugh or cry
diagnosed, incorrectly
by the Clerk at the DMV

I try
to fix online, see
“for changes: make an appointment”
fine
turns out, you can live this way
for 5 years, at least

No one ever looks twice: matching city to zip code
but, no surprise: lawyers
scrutinize
years later, down-the-line
“so, is there a space in your name?”
“no…” I sigh heavy, realize
my passport inherited damage, down-stream
resigned, I’d rather keep it mind
than set the record straight
“but I’ll sign it that way, if you need it”

Thank you for reading Landfall. This post is public so feel free to share it.

In the 90’s, my cousin Brad worked at a radio station in Sacramento and always had cool promotional swag. He knew I loved point-and-click adventure video games, so one year, he gave me Obsidian, a surreal SegaSoft game where you navigated Escher-like dreamscapes to rescue members of your missing science team from a rogue sentient AI named Ceres. One of the first levels is called the Bureau, where you navigate a DMV-inspired hellscape of bureaucracy to progress: answering banal questions, collecting paperwork and keycards to satisfy obscure access criteria. It’s more fun than it sounds, I swear! Especially with the walkthrough guide (also included in the swag bag).

1997-98 was truly a golden age of high budget (4 million dollars for Obsidian) pre-rendered “full motion video” and 3D-hybrid adventure games, like Tim Schafer’s Grim Fandango, Blade Runner, and Zork: Grand Inquisitor. Experiments in blending single-player storytelling with Hollywood movie production value. The critical and fan reception was always amazing, but commercially publishers backed away from the genre. I digress, where were we - anything to escape talking about the DMV.

Yeah, what is there to say? I like to call these errors “little misses” - typos, one-off unexpected things that accumulate and change your life course, gradually, over time in weird little ways. Informational trysts, creating secrets held off-screen. Like bringing your glasses with you everywhere, in case you get stopped by police - just because the Clerk saw you wearing glasses at the DMV. Or explaining that your city name doesn’t match the zip code, but the DMV made it that way… “how is that even possible?” they all say. I hand-wave - some things just aren’t important or worth fixing, and they write it down anyway.

Lawyers are a different story, they like it neat and on-straight. So I’ve learned to sign my middle name with a space. To satisfy the expectation, changed all those years ago at the DMV. Funny how these mistakes propagate. I wonder if generations from now, they’ll wonder, or care to revisit: “did his name really have a space?”

Probably not, they’d rather be playing a good game. 👾