Okay Ladies Now Let’s Get In Formation

What is your real ID, anyway?

I know I've been quiet for a while¹. Thank you for your patience while I have been “going through some shit.” Like, for instance, this:

I’m not good at forms, I don't like making plans, “paperwork” gives me a rash. Dates creep up on me; sometimes I’ll race to the doctor’s office for an appointment that’s actually a month away. 

The one paperwork thing I did do correctly, however, was way back in 2001 when I legally changed my name from Rabins to Clyburn. I went to Social Security. I made my maiden name my middle name, and the Federal Government said “OK by us” and presented me with a Social Security card with this new name on it, then a passport and a driver’s license, too. This was, I remind you, 24 years ago.

At the end of 2024, I went to get my RealID. I fought through my bureaucracy rash. I ordered and received an official New York birth certificate, gathered all my other documents, made a “RealID appointment,” then zipped off to the Newark DMV on that fated day. And then waited about 4 hours. At the first window my documents were approved, and I ascended to the second waiting area, where we were rewarded with chairs on which to sit for there was of course more waiting to be done. When my number was called, I pulled out my bank card, assuming the rest of this was just a formality. How very wrong I was.

Selma Bouvier looked through my documents, then asked me for proof of my name change. I stammered, confused, “Um, the marriage certificate? My Social Security card? I don’t understand?” She said “I need to see a court document legally approving your name change.” I was dumbfounded. I said “What? My marriage certificate? My Social Security card? I don’t have a court document? My name is legal.”

She said, “Maybe when you got married this was sufficient, but it’s not anymore. Now you need a judge to approve your name change.” 

My skin prickled with an all-over urgent tingle, not unlike the sensation right before you have diarrhea. I tried to contain my rising indignation. “What? How?” 

My panicky bafflement was in equal and opposite measure to her absolutely impersonal detachment. Without even looking up, she said “You’ll need to go to court in the county where you were married and have a judge legally approve your name change.” She stacked up my documents and handed them back to me. Our conversation was over. She was so bored with her role as “person who denies perfectly legal American citizens of their stupid fucking RealIDs,” she couldn’t even be bothered to say “Thank you, next?” Or laugh demonically like a supervillain. Or just go “SUCKA!”  

RealID denied. For hours, I’d sat there in my bubble of confident college-educated 3rd-generation-American suburban white lady comfort. I watched people whose English was spotty be sent out of line to track down other documents, or be told by Selma’s sister Patty that “No, we won’t accept a phone screenshot of your Social Security card. Next?” I felt compassion for them, but if I’m being honest, also a satisfying dollop of superiority. Not me, nope. I’m as American as Kid Rock. nothing to worry about here. (Sucka.)

I left the building, too confused and shocked to be rageful. I was actually a little teary-eyed. I was like that girl in the viral video who is smacked in the face by a bird while on an amusement park ride. (If you don’t know what I’m referring to, please Google “Teen smacked in face by a bird.”)

This rule is a tax on women. Only married women who have taken their husband’s name will need to spend the time and money to procure this additional paperwork. 

Since experiencing this ordeal, more than a couple friends who also took their husband’s name the way I did (aka legally) said they received their RealID no problem. So a few months later, I tried again. We managed to find a RealID appointment cancellation and drove an hour to Sparta, NJ. A blessedly shorter line, but also a quicker denial. This time I didn't even make it to the cashier. Denied at the first window. But for a different reason. 

This time, my married surname was ok, but my middle name no longer matched my birth certificate so no dice. My middle name. I pleaded with the woman. Social Security allowed me to change my middle name when I changed my last name. Why isn’t that legal? 

“They should not have let you do that,” she said. (Sucka.)

So I turned to my elected officials. I disagree with Musk and Trump; the people working in our civil service are not lazy grifters stealing taxpayer money. They’re amazing. Well, some of them. Some of them are assholes. 

The Amazing Ones:  A young woman in Rep. Mikey Sherrill’s office who has been diligently working on her end to help me solve this. Also a volunteer in the office of Garnet Hall, my state assemblywoman, who took images of all my paperwork to appeal to the state’s commissioner for the NJ Department of Motor Vehicles. 

The Asshole: The state’s commissioner for the NJ Department of Motor Vehicles. His name is Chris Hillman. First, he echoed what they said in Sparta. Here’s his exact text from the email:

unfortunately due to law we can not replace your middle name with your maiden name. 

most likely your realid could be Alexandra Louise Rabins Clyburn

Due to what law? WTAF? Why does everyone suddenly give a shit about my middle name? (Also, my middle name was formerly Leslie, but whatever.)

Then, a week later, when the Amazing One from my assemblywoman’s office followed up with Mr. Hillman, this is what he said (exact text from his email, forwarded to me):

Unfortunately, she will not be able to get a realid using this marriage certificate. She will need to get one signed by the registrar and not a religious document. Sorry.

My marriage certificate is not a religious document. It’s a legal marriage certificate from the state of Maryland. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Mr. Hillman’s job is to come up with reasons why I should not get my RealID.

I’m sure many of you smart people are shouting “Just use your passport!” Oh darlings, I would if only I could. I let my passport expire during Covid and, as my aggressively unjet-set life offered no pressing need, I didn’t submit my renewal until last year. Big mistake. So back when I was denied a RealID the first time, I shelved the whole project and figured I’ll just use my renewed passport when it arrives. But it never did. 

Turns out my passport renewal was lost in some cul-de-sac of (sucka). No record of anything anywhere. Thanks to the Amazing One from Mikey Sherrill’s office, who managed to track down the reason for that, I am now in an expensive race to get my passport before we fly to California on May 16. This is a domestic flight that I may not be able to take because I changed my middle name 24 years ago. 

Show me your papers

I swear to you, my desperation to get my passport is triggering all the paranoia and fear that clicked on 45 years ago when I first learned about the Holocaust. Watching the news is not helping. Lots of people with every right to be here are being shipped off to Cecot or questioned for hours in airports. I am full on freaking out. Go ahead and call it a persecution complex, I don’t care. I need that passport the way all the characters in Casablanca were trying to get those papers from Rick. 

I know it was my mistake to let my passport lapse, and I’ll own that. But can we talk about this RealID bullshit? What is that? And if I told 10 women about this, at least 8 of them shook their heads with that sad dark wisdom of people who know the system is conspiring against them. “They are trying to take away our right to vote,” they’d all say. At first I thought it sounded paranoid and crazy but now I agree. One friend pointed me to the SAVE act, which passed in Congress in April. We should all be paying attention to what happens to this bill. Call your senators and tell them it’s downright unAmerican to demand two forms of ID in order for citizens to vote.

But most importantly: Keep your passport handy, ladies.²

1. No, books to recommend this week, except maybe Handmaid’s Tale?

2. Yes, this is the second time I’ve used a Beyoncé line for my headline. What can I say? I’m a fan.