NEW YORK PHOTOGRAPHER’S BLOG

My sister called to say that her front license plate had been stolen two days ago, and she had gotten two tickets since then, and would I like to go up to the 125th street motor vehicles department with her.  She had all her paperwork in order, and she didn’t think it would take long.

It was around noon.  First mistake, on the way up she decided to take the FDR.  Clogged.  We just sat in traffic for a half-hour wondering what the hold up was.  Turned out that the 125th street exit was closed for construction.

So we went further.  Got off and made our way back.  And somehow, found a spot on 125th street.

She had made a dinky strange black and white plate which she attached to the front of the car, but which hadn’t fooled anyone and we were wondering if she’d get another ticket while we were in motor vehicles.

And then the wait began.  Rows of well-sat on wooden benches, and flashing numbers like in a bakery, but we couldn’t figure out for a long time what the meaning of the numbers were.  Her ticket said C606 and we speculated about what the “C” meant.  Although they had room for about 20 employees, only six were at work.  And we just sat there for at least an hour and a half, and finally I got up and said I was going to wander around downstairs.

Eventually, about an hour later, she called me to say that she was finished, but that they wanted her to return with the license plate which was still on the back of the car.  But we didn’t have a screwdriver, and the thing was rusted in.  We took out every possible thing from our pockets that might work to unscrew it, but after almost breaking her mailbox key, she looked at her insurance card in the glovebox (which they also wanted) and realized it was expired.  No, her insurance wasn’t expired, but the card was an old one.

Now what.

We’re dead now, I said.

Yep, she said.  Dead meat.

So what should we do.  Try and go back to the house, get the screwdriver and the up-to-date insurance card.  Then go through traffic again.

She kept complaining that she had asked the guy on the phone what she would need to bring and she had brought everything they told her.

I just nodded.  And you’re surprised that they didn’t give you the right information.

But I asked them like three times if there was anything else I needed to bring.

I know.  But this is the motor vehicles department.  You expected the correct information.  C’mon.  No use sitting here, let’s head back.

When we got back to the home neighborhood, we stopped at a hardware store and bought a phillips head screwdriver and removed the back license plate.  I had a flash of what might be genius.

Alright, give me the plate, I said.  I took it and walked into a small copy place.  I handed the crumpled plate to the guy and said, make a color copy of this.

He gave me a strange look.  A long thoughtful strange look.  And then took the plate and stuck it on the photo copier and returned with a color print of the license plate.

I paid two dollars.  Thanked him, and returned to give the color copy to my sister.  So that’s what is on the front of the car now.  I looked at it, and unless you look very closely, it is hard to see that it’s a fake plate (it’s pasted onto a piece of stiff mat board).

I think, that may be breaking another law – such as it is illegal to use photocopies of plates which is a demeanor or whatever, but so long as it doesn’t rain, I think she’ll be alright until Monday.