Tump Thump

A couple of months ago, Chris declared that he would pursue his Jamaican driver’s license. After half a year on the island, he thought it was something he should accomplish, since his Australian license was only good for the first thirty days that he was here. Upon hearing this, I too decided that having one could be wise, since legal use of my Iowa license expired more than a year ago. I could probably make it through my tenure here without ever having a local license but, what the hey,... we have little to do until the government sorts out who will complete the work.

Ten years ago, when I moved back to Iowa from Illinois, I went to the IDiOT examining station, whereby they scrutinized my existing license, gave me an eye exam, and filled out a form. After a flash of light and a brief wait, my new identification was spat out the far end.

Not so, Jamaica. The first of many steps is to look deep inside of yourself and ask, “how much free time do I really have?”

Next step, the tax office, which has the application form, on a double-wide sheet of legal paper, three-fourths of which must be filled with redundant data. With a little word processing, this could be reduced to both sides of a sheet of letter, or less if you get rid of the medical examiners certification, my next stop.

This was my second experience with Jamaican country medicine. The first was for the removal of some stitches from my back that I had received in Chicagoland. After almost blacking out during that procedure, the doctor remarked, “the mind and the body are sympathetic”. Only when I got home to a mirror did I realize what he meant, because it was the wound tearing open which convinced my mind that maybe, just maybe, it would rather be elsewhere for the balance of the procedure.

Apparently, the doctor could not tell that the incision had not fully healed prior to starting his work. But what do you expect for JA $500?

With this experience permanently and painfully in place, I drove to the offices of Doctor Stair. Before me were four others, crammed into uncomfortable metal folding chairs. After an hour or so (in which I peed in a reused plastic cup, had my blood pressure measured, and read the various posters regarding STD’s, sexual dysfunction and Viagra), I met the doctor, who checked my eye chart reading skills.

We talked about the highway more than my health and he eventually signed the form with multiple rubber stamp flourishes. The doctor suggested that I use my office address, as he thought it best to pursue a license using an address in the parish. With White Out and pen, he made the changes.

I had four passport photos left over from something or another, and these I presented to Mister Stair, brother of the Doctor, Custos of Lucea, employee of the Contractor, and friend of the Justice of the Peace, who must verify my identity and suitability for licensure. A week later, my form and photos were returned, duly notarized, verified and rubber stamped, despite my never having met the Justice.

Now we were getting somewhere, but not until we made another trip to the tax office, to pay the application fee. Of course, we (as Chris was with me at the time) could not pay the fee without a Taxpayer Registration Number. We could not get them that day, but we could apply for them, and be issued Temporary Taxpayer Registration Numbers that would last for the four months needed to process our request for a permanent number. The TTRN has a rubber stamp on it, to signify its officiality.
Next window please, where we paid the application fee, and received additional rubber stamps.

At the examiners, I presented my form and receipt to the Island Transportation Authority clerk, and was informed that the change in address made by Doctor Stair needed to be initialed by him,... and rubber stamped. Chris had a similar address snafu, so we retreated.

I secured the necessary initials and stamp, returned after lunch, and was given a slip of paper (rubber stamped), noting when I should return for my examination, some three weeks hence. In the mean time, I would bone up on Jamaican Rules of the Road pamphlet (remove the bulbs from your taillights, pass wildly, never dip your headlights, drive on the left).

Finally, the day of my examination was upon us. Chris was nervous we motored to the examiner’s station. He had yet to review the Rules of the Road, so he read the book as I drove.

A surprise awaited us, multiple exams. Since we were pursuing a “General” license, we were to be tested on our “Mechanical” knowledge as well as our “Rules” knowledge. Unfortunately, I had no clue as to how to answer the following highly technical mechanical question:

Q. If you are driving steadily along and your vehicle stops suddenly, what could be a possible cause?

Ok, the stop is sudden, so we can probably discount fuel, air, or electrical problems. If the engine quit, the vehicle would still roll along, unless the pistons seized, but then the transmission should allow for continued forward movement. Maybe applying the brakes would cause the vehicle to stop suddenly, but I would not be applying the brakes if I were driving steadily along. Hence, I must have hit a cow.

A. A disconnected coil wire.

Ah. Likewise, the Rules test had such posers as:

Q. What signal must you give when you are about to slow down or stop?

A. Extend your right arm with the palm of the hand turned downwards, and move it slowly up and down keeping the wrist loose, and….

Q. If you were at the intersection of a major road, how would you turn your vehicle around?

A. Reverse into the minor road and then drive forward into the major road.

We would see our test results after completing the Driving Test, actually driving around Lucea with the examiner in tow. Breathe deeply, relax, coordinate the use of turn indicators and the wagging arm signals, do not nail any peds, drive like you have had six too many and a state trooper is riding your bumper.

I think this is where I failed. Except for my last cholesterol screening, this is my first failed anything since that three semester Dynamics fiasco at State. I guess I was too cautious in avoiding all potholes and people. I waited at intersections until it was actually my turn. I stayed within my lane through the uphill hairpins. I checked my mirrors and waggled my arm prior to stopping. I did not sound my horn unnecessarily. I stayed within the speed limits at all times.
The examiner asked if I drive much on the island. Apparently, he wanted not a flawless example of courtesy on the roads, but more of the aggression typical of the local taximen

When we got back to the examiner’s station, I saw my Rules score, 25 of 26 (20 is passing), and my Mechanics score, 7.5 of 22 (16 is passing) (oops). Despite this, I think my cautious driving cost me, as Chris got an 11 on the Mechanics, and he got licensed. Anyway, I had two weeks to study before retesting.

So, yesterday morning I reported to the examiner, and was instructed to report to the tax office to pay another examination fee, and to get another stamp. That done, I retested my mechanical knowledge, scoring 21 of 22. I could pick up my new license the next day, today, at the tax office, provided I paid the licensing fee, which I did (three rubber stamps), and was informed that the machine that makes the licenses is broken.

I am to return in a couple of months. Until then, I will continue to drive with no valid license, as I suspect is the case with the majority of the road warriors already out there.