In the first decade of our friendship, Raya never owned a car. Yet somehow, she was rarely without one. Certain people have a special charm in their life – always getting rockstar parking, primo seats at a restaurant, vintage clothes shopping flair. Raya had car benefactors.
When she and I became close friends, my car slowly became our car. At a certain point, she stopped asking to use it and would instead say things like, “I have a doctor’s appointment on Tuesday morning.” In other words, “Don’t you even think about using the car on Tuesday.” I am a complete pushover and would rather ride the bus across town on a rainy day than utter the word “no.”
Raya wasn’t the most organized person back then and had put off getting her license renewed. There was probably some long rambling story about the renewal form getting lost in the mail because she moved from Eastlake to Fremont and then to downtown and forgot to file a change of address form with the DMV in between moves. I can’t remember the details, but her license was expired, and she had to retake the written and drive tests.
Since she didn’t have a car or a valid license, she had to use my car for the driving test portion. Of course, I had to go with her because the registered owner had to be present. Plus, how else was she going to get there?
Raya scheduled the appointment, I took the day off, and we drove to the Greenwood DMV in North Seattle. I cannot think of a worse way to spend time. This was before the iPhone existed. When you had to wait, it was actual time spent waiting, not more free time with your pocket supercomputer.
While Raya was taking her test, I sat with the dozens of people dressed in the Seattle uniform – known as khakis and polar fleece. It was a sea of earth tones in there. It wasn’t hard to notice the one tall, lanky man dressed in all black with piercing blue eyes and short wavy brown hair. He was sitting a few seats away from me.
Some people on this planet, like Brad Pitt or Oscar Isaacs, have a natural charisma just sitting quietly in the DMV. They have something about them that makes you feel like they are a little otherworldly. The Man in Black definitely had that going on. It’s like he just rolled out of bed into his Armani jeans and Commes de Garçon t-shirt, and somehow, he still looked better than 95% of most Americans.
Raya returned to the waiting area and sat beside me. She was buzzing because she had passed the test and was ready to have her transportation freedom returned to her. All we had to do was wait for her to get a picture taken for her new license.
After a few minutes, she surveyed the room and immediately noticed the Man in Black.
“Giyen! Why did you not tell me that Chris Cornell is here!” she whispered loudly.
“That is not Chris Cornell.”
“That is totally Chris Cornell,” she replied emphatically.
“Why would Chris Cornell be at the Greenwood DMV? That doesn’t make any sense,” I replied.
“I am telling you that is Chris Cornell.” Raya folded her arms across her chest, indignant.
“Listen,” I said. “Let’s just think about it for a sec. I get that celebrities need to get their licenses just like everyone else, but they don’t have to do it just like us. They have special rules, Raya.”
I don’t know where this information was coming from. I had no idea if there were special rules at the DMV for celebrities.
“Do you think Bill Gates has to go to the DMV with the rest of us?” I went on. “No, he gets to make a special appointment on Saturday, so he doesn’t have to sit and wait with the commoners.” Now I was really pulling it out of my ass, but I’ve learned if you say something with absolute confidence, people will believe anything.
Raya gave me the side eye and quieted down.
The man taking photos for new licenses, we’ll call him Neil, looked like he was nearing retirement age. He had white hair and wore a white camp shirt with his khaki pants – an outfit he probably wore Monday thru Friday. He showed no sense of urgency and periodically would call out a name across the waiting area in this long, drawn-out way.
“Maaaaaaarrrssshhhaa Sssshaaannduuuuurr.”
“Aaahhh-maaaannnn-daaaa Hooooofffferrrr.”
Those people would make their way to the photo kiosk, get their picture taken in front of a blue background, and then get a license.
Neil looked down at his list and called out the next name, “Chhhrrrriiiisssstooophhher Cooooorrrnnnelll.”
Raya elbowed me. “I TOLD YOU IT WAS HIM.” Her smugness was palpable.
Chris stood up and headed towards Neil. He moved like a man who was used to everyone staring at him … because everyone was staring at him.
“Alright now. Stand in the middle of the blue background Mr. Cornell.” Neil directed. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”
Chris positioned himself in front of the blue cloth and then waited for Neil to take the photo. He lifted his chin slightly like a serious man with a bit of an attitude. He was a rockstar, after all.
Neil was fiddling with the camera settings and then started chuckling when he looked at the view screen. Instead of mechanically taking a picture, he broke out of character and asked Chris a question, “Has anyone told you, you look like Alice Cooper?”
Chris’s face softened, and he broke out with a huge smile. “No, no one has told me I look like Alice Cooper.”
“Well, you look just like him,” Neil replied.
