THE Land Transportation Office (LTO) is less then ten minutes from the house. There was only a trickle of people in the waiting area when I arrived. I went to one of the windows and inquired how to go about with my transaction.
The guy behind the glass said they were “off-line,” by which he meant that all works that required the computer network were stalled. He said I could go upstairs for physical exam and drug test meantime, the other parts of the procedure I can continue the following day. I obliged, I was anyway deferring a call of nature, and I supposed they needed the specimen.
So I went back the following day, handed in my requirements (birth certificate and TIN) and willingly went through the procedure. I was headed for adventure.
After decades of resisting the idea of driving, I gave in.
I have always imagined all my life’s stations to be merely walking distance apart, but life’s tectonic shifts sometimes rearrange the possibilities. Besides, some LTO procedure wasn’t like going to the dentist or something anyway. I was in for some spying in the wonderful world of government bureaucracy.
First off that morning, I found myself in a room of about 25 people. We were to be given a lecture on basic traffic rules.
This was interesting. When I looked to my right, I thought I had Bob Marley for a seatmate. I looked around and for one moment it looked like a peace conference between the Bloods and Crips. Further back though, there were a few quiet souls, and one of them said she drove a Fortuner.
So I guess the country’s citizenry was well represented in that room, or so I supposed. I brought the voice of the sleepless and hypertensive.
In an hour I learned a lot, no small thanks to the lecturer who tossed in whatever funny thing he could think of. I learned that a motorcycle is termed “single” because, legally, it can only take in one passenger at a time. That, in Dumaguete, people use the “series name” Easyride to call their passenger multicabs. That, under LTO speak, a “tricycle” wasn’t named so because it has three wheels, but because it is only allowed to have three passengers. Talisay’s fleet is a perverted species because it could take in six to seven passengers.
I also learned what “restriction code” means, and it says that if you have a code 15, you can drive a dinosaur.
Anyway, the lecturer told us that the LTO is doing its best to follow ISO standard, which compresses the whole procedure of getting a license into one day. No sweat.
An entire morning is spent on lectures and an examination. The afternoon is for practical driving, after which you can wait at the releasing window for your magic card. That day, I was going to be a direct witness of ISO compliance.
After an hour, we were back downstairs for the exam. Jeepney dispatchers, I realized, aren’t free from this procedure.
They were to answer a few questions, too. Non-professionals needed to answer forty. A leakage was impossible because each of us have varied sets of questions, which were by the way in the English language.
I looked around and saw Bob Marley with a tormented look; he could be ready to shoot another sheriff. I hope the LTO can make a Cebuano translation of the exams. I’m willing to translate them pro bono provided I get a non-criminal looking mugshot on my next license.
So the day ends, and congratulations to the LTO for being ISO-compliant. I had my license by the end of the day, spic and span. I headed home, took another look at the card and saw that, under sex was “female.” By international standards, I could be a feminist.
