Vogon: I am sorry ma'am, but that signature is not correct. It does not appear to be yours.
Me: I just signed it in front of you. You watched me do it, that's what "witness" means. How can a signature be incorrect?
V: It doesn't match the one on your passport. Can you do it again?
M: Can I have a few practice goes?
V: We aren't allowed to permit that, no.
Me: How's this?
V: Try making the "d" a bit loopier.
Twenty agonizing minutes later...
V: If you could just look into the camera...
M: *vacant expression*
V: Let me try one more, you look neutral but it might not be neutral enough.
Fifteen minutes after that...
V: Are you a felon?
M: No.
V: A drunk driver? A drug user? An addict of any kind?
M: No.
V: Do you wear glasses?
M: Yes. Seriously, though, that's on the same list?
V: You're a shifty bunch.
(I'm starting to like this guy)
Thirty Minutes Later, Oh My GAAAAAAAAAWD
V: (rather smugly, I felt) Can you tell me the exact date you were issued your first driving permit in Canada?
M: (equally as smugly) December 10, 1993. It was a rainy Friday.
V: I...you...that almost never happens.
M: Mazel tov.
After spending two days attempting to navigate the murky sea of red tape of Manitoba Public Insurance, which is the Manitoban Ministry for Driver's License, Motor Vehicle Registration, and Muggle Befuddlement, I feel like I can safely cancel that pending appointment for an exhaustively thorough medical examination.
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