Joe McQuaid's Publisher's Notebook: Weighty matters during wait at the DMV
Which was my first question. Who is out there contributing to the gross domestic product? Everyone seems to be in here.
Never go to the DMV at the end, or the beginning of a month. Also, never go around noon.
"What? Why not? I should hit you with a pen, perhaps?"
The pens at the DMV, by the way, could qualify as weapons.
The lady who takes my license photo (and politely notes that I was late in renewing) laughs knowingly when I observe that a lot of people must like the new online application in which you can keep the same photo you had when you looked younger.
I agree that the photo is much ado about nothing. But weight is another matter.
I look at my licenses, old and new. One thing jumps out. My weight has changed, dramatically.
"You're Joe McQuaid," says one guy. Oh, oh, I think, here it comes.
He is a regular reader, but his wife doesn't like where we put the Sunday crossword, and why did we take up a whole page last Saturday for a Pinkerton honor roll? (I'm with him on that one. I like honor rolls, but Pinkerton's is like printing the entire U.S. Census.)
I am about to decide that a driver's license isn't worth the effort when, Bingo!, my number is called. I am free at last, but no longer a 4.
Write to Joe McQuaid at Publisher@UnionLeader.com or on Twitter at @Deucecrew