How to make the best of a bad situation

LAS VEGAS — It was early spring in 1998.

My friend and I had just finished up our last semester of college.

I was heading to California to work at an engineering firm.

She was heading back to Las Vegas to go to law school.

We were just about to go on vacation, but a phone call from our parents alerted us to a sudden and ominous call from the Nevada Department of Motor Vehicles.

We didn’t know what to expect.

I remember being surprised.

I wasn’t sure we would ever be able to get our drivers licenses back.

I’d never been in an accident, I had no idea what a traffic ticket was, and I’d spent all of the last four years driving for a living.

My parents weren’t concerned.

We’d just graduated, we were both going to be working, and we’d have plenty of time to relax before returning to work.

I had the best job in the world.

We had the nicest apartment, and my friends were excited about moving in.

I couldn’t wait to start a new chapter in my life, I told myself.

We got married in May and moved into a two-bedroom house in downtown Las Vegas.

It was a comfortable house, with a nice view of the Las Vegas Strip and lots of trees and waterfalls, and a backyard where we could fish, bike, and do yard work.

But for the next six months, my life would become a living hell.

A few days after the DMV call, I woke up in my apartment to find that the driver’s license paperwork had been removed from my record.

A week later, the same paperwork was taken out of my car’s glove compartment.

By that time, I was a free man, and that’s when things really started to go downhill.

On Feb. 12, 1999, I’d been driving on I-15 when I was pulled over by a Las Vegas police officer, who stopped me and arrested me.

I told him my age, my job title, and the license I’d gotten for my driving test.

I said, “I’ve never been arrested.”

He didn’t believe me.

He said, I’m not going to take this for granted.

“A month later, on Feb. 23, I went to the Clark County Courthouse in Las Vegas, where I was arraigned on a misdemeanor driving violation, but he refused to release me.

In a bizarre twist of fate, the prosecutor was a Nevada attorney, and he offered to take me to trial.

“I’ll put you in the back of a patrol car and drive you to jail.” “

You’ll get your driver’s licence back,” he said.

“I’ll put you in the back of a patrol car and drive you to jail.”

I had already spent the last two months of my life in jail.

It had been a long road, I explained, but I had made it this far.

He agreed.

We made our first court appearance the next day.

The prosecutor was furious, and told the judge that if I did not make a court appearance within the next three days, he would put me in jail for three days.

But the judge had already set a bond of $200.

I did, and was put into the Clark Detention Center.

There was no way I could get my license back, I pleaded.

“This is going to ruin you,” he told me.

My attorney and I made a deal.

If I didn’t show up for my court date, he’d put me on house arrest and lock me up for two weeks.

I got out of jail the next morning.

I walked into the courthouse, the door slamming.

My car had been towed, but the DMV had already released me.

On the way out, I turned around and said, What have I done?

I thought back to the DMV summons, and it was clear I’d made a mistake.

I realized that my license was the one I’d received in the first place, but somehow, I hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

It took me a couple of weeks to process everything, including the DMV letter, the court date I was scheduled to go, and even my new name.

All of it made sense to me, and at first, everything seemed to be going well.

I went back to work the next week.

When I got home, my dad told me everything was all right.

He had no clue what happened to me.

The DMV letter had been in my car for over a week, and no one had seen it.

No one in my family knew about it either.

I also had a few months of traffic tickets and misdemeanor convictions, all for minor infractions.

In my case, it didn’t matter that I’d driven in Nevada, I wasn, in fact, a Nevada resident.

I kept driving, until I finally stopped driving.

It wasn’t until I went through the DMV’s online database that I saw my license and license plate number.

I tried calling the DMV and explaining that I had a valid