On Getting a Tennessee Driver’s License (by Anna)

I applied for a Tennessee driver’s license today. After getting married, I changed my name, address and home state, so needed to update my license. Still being relatively unfamiliar with Memphis, I was not sure where to go to have this done. I looked online, and found a mall relatively close that offered this service. I mapquested the address, wrote down the phone number, and then headed out. Once at the mall, I looked at the directory to find where in this big mall the driver’s license place was. I couldn’t find it listed anywhere, so I called. I got a series of prompts with number options, then selected one for the location. I listened to the recorded message, “Driver’s license station located in Hickory Ridge mall, next to the JC Penneys.” I was in Hickory Ridge Mall. There is no JC Penneys in this mall.
Finally I discovered on the directory where the station was, and headed in that direction. It was 1 pm on a Thursday, and there was hardly anyone around. When I found the Drivers’ license place, it was packed. I explained I had a current license in Kansas, and needed one in Tennessee.
“We don’t do that here,” the lady at the desk relied. Apparently they only renew Tennessee licenses at this location.
“So, where do I go?” I inquired.
“I don’t know,” she said. I looked exasperated, so she handed me a 200 page book on driving in Tennessee and said, “there may be a phone number in there you can call.”
I left the mall and found some addresses in the book for other locations. One location was on Shelby Drive, and I didn’t know where that was, so I called. Again a series of prompts, so I pressed one for the location.
“We are located at 3200 Shelby Drive, east of the airport”.
“East of the airport,” I thought, “half of Memphis is located east of the airport!” I waited for a prompt to talk to a person and got, “Thank you for calling. Good by.” They hung up.
I found a third location on Summer Ave, and I knew where the street was, so though I could find the address. I drove 30 minutes from there, sat in traffic, then found a small building labeled Tennessee Transportation. The parking lot was packed. I went inside, and was given an application form to fill out. Then I waited for my number.
The next two hours passed very slowly. The book I brought became exceedingly boring, and my reading was constantly interrupted by the overhead, “Service available for number 304 at desk two”, which was repeated four times, even long after person #304 had been standing at desk two.
Finally, my number was called. I approached the desk and handed the lady my application form.
“What is it you are wanting to do?” she asked. She handed back my application. I explained I had a license in Kansas and needed one in Tennessee.
“Well, then, I will need your birth certificate or passport, and two pieces of mail identifying your residence.” I handed her the necessary materials. She took them, then looked at me. “I need your application form!” I handed it back to her.
She looked over the forms then replied, almost victoriously, “This will not do. I also need you marriage license.” I figured this would be the case, and had brought it. I handed her the document. She started typing, but had much difficulty with my two middle names (Lee Camille). They were too long. The “e” was getting cut off. She asked for my old driver’s license. Apparently in Kansas, they could accommodate my full name. However, in Tennessee, I would have to settle for being Anna Lee Camill.
After all this, I was instructed to go to another line to wait for my picture. I posed for the picture then was asked to sign my name on the computerized signature screen. I signed on the line next to the X.
“Oh no! You’re going to break the thing! Don’t sign on the line, sign under it!” The lady chided me. Who would have known. I signed again. This time was not acceptable either. “Your going to break it! Press harder!”
“Why am I going to break it?!,” I questioned. She said if we had to redo this too many times, the system would crash. I signed again. Unacceptable. She left to help other customers.
Another lady came by, and deleted everything the first lady had done. Again I had to sign. The scribbles passed this time. I posed for my picture. I waited some more.
Finally, I was handed a drivers license. I looked it over.
“The address is wrong. It’s 4947 Parkside, not 7949.”
“Well then you need to tell that to the person who typed it!” She sent me back to the original lady. I waited for her to redo my address then returned to the picture desk. After some time, I explained to the lady who I had been talking to before that I was waiting for my corrected license. She looked at the incorrect license I gave her then said, “This is dated today”.
“Yes, today! I was here 5 minutes ago and am waiting for the address to be corrected!”
“Oh.” She handed off the license, then I waited for my corrected version. It finally came out.
So, after $27 and 5 hours of frustration, I can legally drive in Tennessee. Or at least Anna Lee Camill can.