Love at the DMV
Sitting across from each other in the waiting area of the division of motor vehicles, she smiled first. He returned the smile, but looked away, not sure what her smile meant. Long brown hair, hazel eyes, pretty. He was wearing a black T-shirt with the words, “Rutgers Newark” in white lettering. What were the chances she went to Rutgers? After all, he was living in Franklin, Tennessee now.
He glanced back in her direction again. This time she laughed, though not unkindly. He shrugged, as if to say, “Am I funny?” He thought of Joe Pesci in the movie Goodfellas. “Funny how?” That made him laugh. Some people said he looked a bit like Pesci.
“Are you laughing at me?” she asked.
He fingered his auto registration papers, not sure of what to say. This girl had a classic southern accent. “No, I just remembered a line from a movie, that’s all.” His own voice, all Newark in pronunciation and attitude, made him self conscious. He realized he’d been feeling that way since he moved to Franklin two weeks ago.
“What brings you to the DMV this morning,” the young woman asked. “I hope you’re not planning to live here, but if you are, I’ll buy you a UT shirt.” She pointed to his Rutgers-Newark shirt. “You’re kinda sticking out like a sore thumb in that thing.”
“Is that right? I heard of southern hospitality before I moved here, but I didn’t know you guys had an immersion program for newcomers.”
“Not all newcomers, only the ones with potential.”
An older African American man, who was sitting next to the young lady, chimed in. “He doesn’t look like he has a lot of potential to me, coming in here dressed like that.” The man was wearing a Vanderbilt ballcap.
The young man heard his number called. He stood up and walked over to the older man and said, “My name is Ken Michaels.” The men shook hands. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to the young lady who’s buying me the orange shirt?”
“I would, but I don’t know her.”
Ken turned to the woman and said, “Joan, I wear a large.”
She laughed. “First of all, my name isn’t Joan.”
“Scarlett then?”
“You probably think every woman in the south is named Scarlett.”
“Or Melanie.”
Now the woman stood. Her number had been called. It was one number higher than Ken’s, which meant that Ken had probably lost out and would have to take a new number. He turned toward the window where a woman was patiently waiting for the next customer.
“Come with me, Ken. I know everybody here. Name’s Prissy, by the way.”
When their business at the DMV was finished, Ken checked his watch. It was just after 11:00 a.m. “Too early for lunch, Prissy?”
She laughed. “You asking me out Rutgers?”
“I was at Cracker Barrel yesterday. I noticed they have UT shirts. Thought we could kill two birds with one stone.”
“So, you’re not asking me out? Separate checks?”
“No-no, my treat, definitely.”
“My name’s not really Prissy.”
“It’s not Mammy is it? I might not be a good guesser.”
“Let’s go Yankee, before I change my mind.” She pushed her paperwork under his nose. Her name was Amanda.
“Amanda. I like the name. So, Amanda, what do the letters UT actually stand for?”
She rolled her eyes. She’d been right to smile at Ken. He had potential.