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My first year in America involved a lot of waiting, specifically for VTA bus number 23. Most days were uneventful, but at least once a week, I'd lose my mind on Stevens Creek Boulevard, having missed my usual bus by a few seconds and the following bus rolling up twenty minutes behind schedule. I never quite mastered the art of cutting it close, but not too much.
One winter day was particularly miserable. Rain hit me from all directions, and my flimsy, collapsible umbrella was practically useless in the wind. By the time I boarded the bus with my jeans soaked, I had promised myself that I would get a driver's license on the day I turned eighteen.
It was around the same time I met Romeo. Like many savvy young Cantonese immigrants I encountered, particularly the ones from Hong Kong, he gave me practical advice. "The quickest way to a social security number is a part-time job at the De Anza flea market on Saturdays," he said, referring to the community college I attended. "They hire everyone. Afterward, you can apply for a secured credit card." Building a credit history—of which I had none, being new to the country—would take time and, hence, should be my priority. Those were the kind of things he would tell me.
Another life hack Romeo shared with me was to sit for the written driving test immediately so I could begin lessons and schedule the behind-the-wheel drive test on my birthday.
"There's another trick," he said. "Take the written test in Chinese."
It turns out the Department of Motor Vehicles in California offers the driving knowledge test in various foreign languages, and they don't refresh those questions as they do with the English version. Romeo emailed me the copies.
"The Chinese test only has three varieties," he said. "All you need to do is memorize the answers."
My appointment at the DMV in Santa Clara was in the morning of a school day. I didn't want to take two buses and spend an hour and a half getting there when someone with a car could drop me off in twenty minutes (Uber would still be years away). I asked a friend from a Friday fellowship group for a ride, and he agreed to take me back to school in time for my afternoon classes.
I felt confident walking into the DMV, but doubt crept in when the receptionist asked what brought me there: What if Romeo's tip is outdated and they have changed the questions?
Despite a relatively empty office, I waited 45 minutes for the PA system to announce my ticket number, "…now serving, at window 21!" I presumed the DMV clerk would ask what language I preferred, but she handed me a test in English straight. After a slight pause, I took a deep breath and said, "I would like to take the test in Chinese," trying to keep my voice steady.
With an eyebrow raised and a slight tilt of her neck, she swapped the packet for a new one, this time with a cover page in Traditional Chinese. I flipped to the second page, quickly scanning the first few questions. I was relieved: The test looked exactly the same as Romeo's "file 2.pdf." Without hesitation, I circled the answers from memory, barely reading the questions. The twenty multi-choice questions took me two and a half minutes, but I waited another five before turning the test in.
Just as I thought I had finished, the DMV clerk pointed at something above her.
"We need to do a vision exam," the woman said. "Cover one of your eyes."
Damn, Romeo never mentioned that part. Then I remembered: he always wore contacts, so a vision test wouldn't have been an issue. I could see fine with both eyes, but my left eye was terrible—I couldn't read TV subtitles from the couch with it alone. Somehow, my brain had adapted to rely only on my right eye, so I'd never bothered with glasses.
Hung from the ceiling above the clerk were three eye charts with five rows of letters, each row shrinking in size. It became immediately obvious that my left eye couldn't read past the second row. I dreaded the possibility of having to return and repeat the process.
And who else can offer me a ride?
The clerk pointed her laser to the eye chart, and I started with my good eye.
"P... E…” I began.
"B... D…"
"Switch to the other eye," she said.
My heart raced, anticipating trouble. To my surprise, another DMV worker came by, hugged my clerk, and they started talking about some upcoming "potluck." I didn't know what that word meant, but I knew this was my chance. While my clerk looked away, I kept both eyes wide open, frantically memorizing as many letters as possible on the other two boards—assuming she wouldn't reuse the first one—while standing as still as possible to avoid attention.
I never thought the American small-talk culture and government agencies' indifference to speed and customer service would ever work in my favor. Back home, customer service wasn't great either, but a clerk would never audibly discuss personal matters with a colleague at length while a customer waited.
However, their conversation ended sooner than I'd hoped. My clerk turned back to me after forty-five seconds or so.
"Where were we?" she said. "Oh yes, the other eye."
I covered my right eye, and the charts blurred. The clerk started in the second row, which was still clear enough for me to read. Then she pointed to a letter on the third row. I squinted, barely making out its shape, and guessed. Her silence, I assumed, meant I had gotten it right. The fourth row, however, would be a challenge.
"Um...C?"
"Not quite," she replied.
She pointed to another letter on the same row. Thankfully, I remembered that one, but I knew the ultimate challenge was still ahead. I recalled three of the five letters in the bottom row.
60% chance.
She pointed to a letter on the far right.
Bingo, I'd memorized that one.
Just as I feared she would quiz me another letter, she shuffled the paperwork on her desk. "Okay," she said, "Take this to the next counter."
I walked out of the DMV with a provisional license in hand. Despite having bent the rules twice in the past hour, I felt no guilt or remorse. If anything, I felt a mix of triumph and disbelief. That tiny slip of paper was a sign that, with a bit of luck and resourcefulness, I could navigate my way in this country. More than anything, I needed to know that waiting for the bus in the rain wouldn't always be the only way home.
Note: The Part 2 of the story is here.
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