Erin Wooddell
With the expiration of my Virginia license plates looming on the horizon, I decided to make the necessary steps toward becoming an official resident of Tennessee.
Last year, my annual Virginia inspection and tag renewal cost around $400. First, there was the $35 inspection fee and the $10 emissions fee. Second, they lifted my car to check every nook and cranny and spouted some story about the suspensions (even though I’d just had my car in for a full tune-up) and the fix would cost a pretty penny. And then I still had to renew my tags. Needless to say, I wasn’t excited to fork over another small fortune to become a Tennessee resident.
Imagine my surprise at how easy the process was in comparison.
With the expiration of my Virginia license plates looming on the horizon, I decided to make the necessary steps toward becoming an official resident of Tennessee.
Last year, my annual Virginia inspection and tag renewal cost around $400. First, there was the $35 inspection fee and the $10 emissions fee. Second, they lifted my car to check every nook and cranny and spouted some story about the suspensions (even though I’d just had my car in for a full tune-up) and the fix would cost a pretty penny. And then I still had to renew my tags. Needless to say, I wasn’t excited to fork over another small fortune to become a Tennessee resident.
Imagine my surprise at how easy the process was in comparison.
On the 1st of the month, I made the journey to the local inspection and emissions office. I pulled up to what looked like an outdoor garage, with the slight feel of a highway toll station. I pulled up, they stuck a nozzle in my gas tank, wrote down my details and five minutes and $9 later, I was on my way.
I was ready to finish the process and get my new license, but then a work trip popped up on my schedule, and I began to wonder if I should wait. In West Virginia, they print the license and hand it to you right there. In Virginia, they mail it later. So I called the courthouse to check on Tennessee's process. Here, they mail the licenses and the woman informed me the temporary licenses “usually” work with airline travel. Call me crazy, but considering all the modern-day hassles of flying, I didn’t want the added stress of worrying that my temporary license wouldn't pass muster.
Apparently, you only have 30 days after the car inspection to get your new plate or tags. With upcoming holiday travel, I was quickly running out of time. So this morning I got up early and headed to the courthouse right when it opened. There was no line and I thought, “I’ll probably even make it to work early!”
(I know what you're thinking: She's so naïve.)
Turns out, the courthouse only issues tags and tag renewals, so after giving me a temporary plate they directed me to the driver’s license location (aka a local branch for homeland security)—15 minutes away.
I get there, fill out my paperwork and wait in line.
For 40 minutes.
When they finally call my number, I’m overly nice to the lady helping me, hoping that she’ll ensure my picture is good. (In Tennessee, you can smile in your license picture!) We make small talk and she seems to be in a pleasant mood. I get my temporary license and notice she misspelled my middle name. I begin to laugh because this has never happened before. My last name gets misspelled all the time—and even my first name causes confusion (especially with Starbucks baristas) from time to time—but no one has ever had trouble with my middle name.
This error means I have to fill out another round of paperwork and take a second picture. Luckily, this new picture is much better.
I get my second temporary license and look down… she incorrectly listed both my hair and eye color as brown. She also inverted my height.
Confused, I clear my throat and ask, "Um, I think there's been a mistake. I'm not 7'5"..."
"You're not?" She blushes and quickly grabs the temporary license, comparing it with the paperwork in front of her. "Oh, you're only 5'7". I can't believe I did that. You just look so tall standing on that side of the counter."
Right, pro-basketball player tall. That's me.
I fill out the form—again—and get my picture taken—again. Embarrassed, she rushes to hand me my third temporary license, where everything is finally correct. I barely get a chance to wish her a Happy Thanksgiving before she calls the next number.
Then I get to my car to really study the license and realize how bad I look in this third picture. Luckily it's better than my Virginia license. After all, they let me smile.
I was ready to finish the process and get my new license, but then a work trip popped up on my schedule, and I began to wonder if I should wait. In West Virginia, they print the license and hand it to you right there. In Virginia, they mail it later. So I called the courthouse to check on Tennessee's process. Here, they mail the licenses and the woman informed me the temporary licenses “usually” work with airline travel. Call me crazy, but considering all the modern-day hassles of flying, I didn’t want the added stress of worrying that my temporary license wouldn't pass muster.
Apparently, you only have 30 days after the car inspection to get your new plate or tags. With upcoming holiday travel, I was quickly running out of time. So this morning I got up early and headed to the courthouse right when it opened. There was no line and I thought, “I’ll probably even make it to work early!”
(I know what you're thinking: She's so naïve.)
Turns out, the courthouse only issues tags and tag renewals, so after giving me a temporary plate they directed me to the driver’s license location (aka a local branch for homeland security)—15 minutes away.
I get there, fill out my paperwork and wait in line.
For 40 minutes.
When they finally call my number, I’m overly nice to the lady helping me, hoping that she’ll ensure my picture is good. (In Tennessee, you can smile in your license picture!) We make small talk and she seems to be in a pleasant mood. I get my temporary license and notice she misspelled my middle name. I begin to laugh because this has never happened before. My last name gets misspelled all the time—and even my first name causes confusion (especially with Starbucks baristas) from time to time—but no one has ever had trouble with my middle name.
This error means I have to fill out another round of paperwork and take a second picture. Luckily, this new picture is much better.
I get my second temporary license and look down… she incorrectly listed both my hair and eye color as brown. She also inverted my height.
Confused, I clear my throat and ask, "Um, I think there's been a mistake. I'm not 7'5"..."
"You're not?" She blushes and quickly grabs the temporary license, comparing it with the paperwork in front of her. "Oh, you're only 5'7". I can't believe I did that. You just look so tall standing on that side of the counter."
Right, pro-basketball player tall. That's me.
I fill out the form—again—and get my picture taken—again. Embarrassed, she rushes to hand me my third temporary license, where everything is finally correct. I barely get a chance to wish her a Happy Thanksgiving before she calls the next number.
Then I get to my car to really study the license and realize how bad I look in this third picture. Luckily it's better than my Virginia license. After all, they let me smile.