That's how I think of it when I have occasion to think about it, a little tiny pocket somewhere among all the folds and neurons and blood vessels. One solitary piece of data fits in there. It's a very old piece, and very out of date, having been replaced numerous times by now in my life. But the data can't be kicked out of that spot however many times new data has been offered up, tagged with a huge "SHOULD REPLACE" sign attached. It's wedged in there, zippered shut, and not about to budge however important more recent data is.
The data is one letter followed by 12 numbers in four groups of three. You'd think that would be easy to forget, replace with something perhaps shorter, maybe more letters and fewer numbers. It doesn't matter. It's been there for over 50 years. It's stuck, entrenched, stubborn, indelible. It's my very first driver's license number. I can still recite it at the drop of a hat: R200 302 and on to the end. You don't need all of it, and I won't give all of it.
The R200 is apparently because of my last name when it was issued. I got my license at the tender age of 22. I'd had Drivers Ed of course in high school, but afterwards not many chances to drive. Eventually I had access to a stick shift car, making learning to drive smoothly delayed even longer. But I did get it, the second time. (Nevermind how I flunked the first behind-the-wheel driving test.) When the family moved to Georgia for a few years, the license was my social security number (I do presume they changed that policy long ago) but upon returning to Minnesota after the divorce, the original number reclaimed me.
Once I started driving for a living, there were times I had to check into a government facility and produce my license... just in case. In case of what? I stole something? Got backed over by one of their semis? Had an accident on their property? Criticized the latest war? Nobody ever explained, it was just done. For decades I was R200 302 and so on.
Then Minnesota changed their numbering system. Don't ask me what that was, though something at the end of the alphabet started my new number. Then I moved, got a license in Arizona, and by now knew enough to not even bother to try to memorize that number. I could look it up since that is still in my possession, but why bother? I'll have a new number on a new piece of plastic coming in the mail shortly anyway. With luck it will be the last license number I'll ever have to be unable to learn.
While I was in getting things switched over, the gal on the other side of the counter asked me if I'd ever had a license in Minnesota. I told her yes, but it was over 12 years ago, and the one number I remembered was even older than that, then proceeded to rattle the old number off like it was my middle name. As I did she actually found that original number in the system. I, in turn, explained to her about the "pocket" in my brain that is the only place allowing a license number to be stored, but it's been full for ages.
She at least was polite enough not to act as if I were crazy.
Maybe she's got her own pockets like those.
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