Author’s note: Don’t panic, Mom, this story has a happy ending.
Back in the first week of November, Todd and I took the kids to Disney World. It was a wonderful trip. But one day, while wandering around the Magic Kingdom, it occurred to me that my pharmacist license expired on October 31. Since November comes after October (it works this way everywhere — even The Happiest Place on Earth), that was kind of a problem.
I had, however, scored very well on the law portion of the pharmacy board exam all those many years ago, and I seemed to recall that I had a little grace period to renew before the state yanked my license, ripped it to pieces, and stomped on it. I’m not currently working as a pharmacist, either. If you’re working and your license expires, you get hauled off in handcuffs. (It may not be that drastic, but I’m sure Important Officials with Frowny Faces are involved.)
I decided I would take care of it when I got home, and put it out of my mind.
“Out of my mind” is exactly where it stayed for the next three months. I was in bed at the end of January, in that relaxed state one is in just before dropping off, when the thought came right back in my mind.
I was suddenly awake again. My mind was, um, racing with worst-case scenarios.
I thought I had a six month grace period, but what if it was only a three month grace period? Then I would have to take the board exams all over again. I can’t contemplate that for long without having to lie down with a cool washcloth on my forehead.
A midnight internet search showed that I actually had two years to renew, but still I worried. What if there was an exception? I spent the night imagining possible fine print that said the two-year grace period did not apply to dachshund owners, people shorter than five foot two, or those unable to twirl a baton.
I was only a little bit hysterical when I called the state office the next morning (even in my agitated state, I suspected that they wouldn’t appreciate midnight phone calls at home). I did have two years. I was okay. I had done nothing that couldn’t be fixed with paperwork and a late penalty. I did not have to face my husband or my parents (it’s a draw as to which encounter frightened me more) to tell them that I had been so busy writing a book on organization that I had lost my pharmacist license for the time being.
I have a long list of things that I have fouled up since the book came out. My license plates expired. I carried a check a check someone gave me around in my purse for months. Just this week I threw away a slew of papers from my son’s school (It seems I got the “throw-away” pile confused with the “keep” pile).
Everybody messes up sometimes. We all forget to turn in library books and video rentals by their due dates (at least I like to believe everybody does this). Is there anyone who hasn’t forgotten their lunch or their keys (or their phone) on occasion?
Failing to renew a professional license, however, is beyond the pale. Even Tammy Wynette managed to keep her beautician license current, just in case she had to return to fixing hair. I’m no Tammy Wynette, in lots of ways.
The fact that I’ve struggled so much with organization after having written a book called The Organized Heart is just too ironic. Sometimes the punch lines just write themselves.
I still maintain that karma, mojo, and Murphy’s Law don’t exist. Our lives are governed by a sovereign God. But should I ever write another book of nonfiction, I may be more careful in choosing the subject matter.
If it’s true that you will fail at the very skill you are trying to teach, here are some of the titles I’m considering:
How to Gain Weight
How to Remain Unable to Twirl a Baton Despite Growing Up With Sisters Who Can
How to Encounter Snakes on a Daily Basis
The possibilities are endless.
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