Getting a Mexican Driver's License

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By Wendy Wilson

Living a life in a foreign country does have its challenges. Recently, I realized that my California driver's license was about to expire, and, due to a new law to presumably protect the world from my terrorism, I had to physically show up at the DMV to renew it. What is an ex-pat to do? Spend mucho dinero to get to the nearest California airport (San Diego), spend a night or two in a motel, rent a car, dine out, etc., or get a Mexican license? The best option became instantly clear. And so, as with my new visa status that brings me as close to being a Mexican as an American citizen can be and still collect social security, I chose to become even more Mexicanized.

But, "hello", the driver's test is in Spanish, and no booklet to read. I started checking around. Surely, I am not the first gringa to face this problem.

As with most things Mexican, the system is a bit loosey goosey. I could pay someone else to take the test for me. PERFECT! You got that right...pay someone else to take the test for me. I can't say it is an "accepted" practice, but it apparently happens all the time. OK. No problema here.

So, on the scheduled date, Jimmy, our male maid and all around lovely person, and I set out to acquire said license. We show up at "Transito" about 12:30PM. Sorry, lady, you cannot take the test until 2PM. Get in line with tens and tens of other people now sharing the same steamy boat.

Now, it is a cultural blind spot that Mexicans simply don't know how to "queue up". More than once I have been aced out of my place in line by someone who simply believed that his bubble belonged ahead of mine for whatever the reason. I am now acutely aware of this pattern, and always ready for bear. My antennae were swinging so wildly that I almost lost my balance.

Finally, Jimmy and I are led into a dungeon of a test room with no windows. But wait. Before the test was given, we had to sit through one hour of a bureaucratic Napoleon with thick lips who read to us, excruciatingly slowly, a five page memo in eight point font on God knows what. Picking up words here and there, I believe it was the history of how Transito got started, where it stands on the food chain of the Mexican government, and a few basic traffic laws to be followed. At one point, Napoleon got out of his chair and began waving his arms and blowing a whistle so loudly that I thought my eardrums would rupture. But being the only gringa in the room, I was under intense scrutiny by everyone, including Napoleon, and I did my darnedest to look alive with intense interest.

Finally, the test was handed out. Jimmy and I openly discussed each question in Spanglish. Nobody blinked an eye.

Odd those questions! Nothing about how many feet (or meters in my case) that you must park away from a water hydrant, or how fast can you drive through a school zone? No questions about dotted lines, or double lines. Not a hint of concern over who has the right of way. Rather, the one question that really stuck out for me was, "What do you do when the hood of your car flies up, and you cannot see out your windshield"? W-H-A-T???? I flew into hysterical laughter and responded to Jimmy, "the same thing you do when the motor drops out of your car, you idiots." Well, that was the end of it for both of us. We had to ask for Kleenex to wipe away our tears. Napoleon was not amused.

Well, "I" passed the test with flying colors, paid my 350 pesos (about $33US), had my picture taken, produced copies of my entire life, e.g., passport, visa, telephone bill, California driver's license, and away I went for four more years. No driver's test, no eye test, no proof of insurance, none of that.

So, dears, what DO you do when the hood of your car flies up in your face?