Picture a TV show, set in the 1960s. It opens with a slinky femme fatale dispatching rogues with expert Kung Fu. She grabs their suspicious-looking package, tosses it into the passenger seat of a 350 GT Lamborghini, leaps in, and speeds away. She pulls up at a toll booth. An old man in a soiled hoodie, cigarette dangling from his lips, grumbles, “50 cents.” She hands him a couple of quarters and steps on the gas. Cue the theme music as the voiceover announces, “The Adventures of Ralph J. Spumoni: Toll Collector.”
My life is like that lately. I’ve been living one anticlimactic moment after another since recently passing the exam to get licensed again. My Advanced Class license expired some 30 years ago, so I had to start fresh
