The Armory

Last night I read the last page of "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court". I was curled up on the edge of the foam mattress, looking into the other room. In its darkest corner, the light of a battery charger was glowing red. My eyes unfocused and refocused as I slipped into dreams.

I walked into the "Armory" last afternoon, so sleepy my eyes were closing and as I walked. Well, at least I was relaxed. At first I was sure I was in the wrong place, but I saw, written on a whiteboard, the words,
"Driver Licencing" and an arrow. I followed the arrow, and what should I find but nothing. All there was down that hall was a door, open, to a room in which one woman sat, apparently waiting, in a place full of chairs in the middle of them.
That was enough to confuse me, so I turned back and stared at the sign again, as if I could get any more intelligence from those words on it. Hm, no, guess not.
From behind me a voice came, full of dignity.
"Can I help you?"
I turned a little lazily.
"Ah, yes. I am wanting to translate my licence to Bartlesville." As you can see, I was thoroughly... out of my senses. However this had the opposite effect you would expect. My natural sense of authority showed through the slack and she seemed to be noticing as much as I noticed, that I was taller. You see, height really makes a difference with me. Have you ever sat down for a few months and let your body grow, and then when you stood up you were a few inches taller? I have, and it has made all the difference in the way I look at it.
"You want to change to an Oklahoma licence? You'll need to come back tomorrow."
"Okay."
"The latest you should probably come is four o'clock."
"All right, thanks."

This morning I went in the same place, only to be disappointed (or relieved, or both perhaps) by a little sign on a desk in the hall that said,
"Driver licencing full. Come back at 1:30. First come first serve."
Ephraim and I intend to be there at 1:30, so we went to the library in the meantime.