Ted Conner

An Audience with Mr Bean.

There was that old song I heard some time ago, “When I’m sixty five,” or something very similar.  It had a real catchy tune to it, but I’m damned if I can remember that either. Was it the Beatles?

Anyway, that’s not what I’m writing about.  You see, I am just turning 75 and I had to renew my licence (drivers licence) the other day.

Well, off I trot off and obtain the necessary papers, a doctors certificate to herby certify I am sane enough to drive a car, (I couldn’t be worse than a lot of those other mad bastards out there.)  Then I had to present a bill of some kind that tells the authorities who I am supposed to be. I chose the telephone account. As well as a few other bits and pieces.

Armed with all this paraphernalia, I front up to the agencies front desk.  An officious young thing eyes me up and down. 
 “Yes, what can I do for”, she said squinting at me.  I could see the look in her eyes, ‘Oh not another one’!!

I almost said.  “I’m booked in for a vasectomy”, but I changed my mind.  She looked the type to carry it out too, and with just the barest of essentials.

She grabbed the sheaf of papers out of my hand and began reading.  Then she looked at me again, from under her eyebrows, as if to verify the doctors comments were accurate.  She seemed satisfied for she pointed to a little box at the top of the page, “you did not fill that in”. 
“What’s that for”? I say. 
 “It tells me that you have handed me your old licence!! 
God give me strength.  She already had the bloody thing in her hand.  It was at about that point I decided not to ask her out on a date.

Then with nimble fingers she spun the forms around in front of me, “you need to fill this section in”, and she rattled off.  I was busy watching her finger wiz across the page directing me to the correct section, and trying to listen to what she was saying. It was like listening to a machine gun rattling away.  Then out of breath she looked at me and said,  “Now I’m going to get a nice cup of tea before I miss out, and you can fill that in”.  “Oh that’s lovely, mine’s black with one sugar”. She spun around with the grace and crouch of a professional wrestler, “you are not getting one!!” She barked.

My hand shaking uncontrollably I tried to remember what she said about the form.  Thinking I had it right I started filling everything in from my telephone account until my mentor came back. 
 “What!” she glared at me.  That squint was back again.  “What did you do that for”? 
 “I did what you told me”. 
 “I told you to fill in the licence details”, and then she heaved a sigh, as I began to put in the correct details.  “Have you not got all my details in the computer”?   
“Yes”, she replied.  
“So why do I have to fill them in again”? 
 For an answer she folded a receipt, handing it to me, telling me to go to the computer down there and pointed in the general direction.  I made my way down a couple of steps, I had had gout for a couple of days and my foot was blinkin sore.  After staggering down to where she pointed, I sat in front of the computer for my photo.

Then I hear that voice again. “ Mr Guthrie”, then the tapping of her finger on the counter top.   “Over here”!  Hobbling up the steps again.  “Sit”, she commanded. “Look into the camera”.

She smiled then. “All done”.  I bet she was glad to get rid of me. I think I reminded her too much of Mr Bean.