Maybe I'm adopted

Ah, my beloved Green Line, you never fail to disappoint.  Always there when I need a ride, or a solution to a problem.  

Today's problem:  I need my birth certificate to get an Illinois Driver license. Illinois is the only State that doesn't just let you turn in an out of state license and get a new one.   NO, they want real evidence that you are not a ghost or zombie attempting to operate a motor vehicle in the Land of Lincoln.  

Still don't see the problem?  Well obtaining a copy of my birth certificate requires a telephone call to 294 (My parents house).

So I got on the phone to try my best to convince my mom that since I was born in the US after the year 1575 I do in fact have a birth certificate, and she is most likely the custodian of the document in question.  

Thirty minutes into the call, just as I felt the will to live being sucked out of me through the telephone line, the neurons (the one's not killed during her last dance with Mary Jane) started to fire in rapid succession in her brain.  "Oh, you mean your BIRTH Certificate"!?!?!?!?

"Yes mother, my Birth certificate, do you have it?"  

"What do you mean you aren't sure, can you just open the shoebox, bag of flour, loose floor board or jar buried in the yard where you keep important documents and look for it?" 

"Yes, I'll hold." 

"Great, can you mail it to me?"

"Just put it in an envelope and use a stamp"

"First class is probably best, yes" 

"If you want to make a copy that is fine"

"Just send it to my home address"

"hasn't changed, same as before...ok grab a pen so you can write it down again"

"are you writing it in the same address book?" 

"Under the same name...Joey Cleaver?"

"Ok, good, now just look at what is already written there, and write it again right below"

"Yes, I'll hold" 

"Ok, now go ahead and send my birth certificate to that address tomorrow"

"What the hell do you mean WHICH ONE?  How many do I have?"

"I see"

"Spelled my name wrong the first time?"

"No, seems normal enough for a mother to spell her child's name wrong." 

"How about if you send me the rough draft and the final version just to be safe, my name is really Joe right?" 

So I really do believe that most of life's mysteries can be solved by a few rides on the CTA.  Today, as I await my birth certificate in the mail, and ponder the mystery and possibility of my true heritage, I look up  and see an ad on the wall of the train asking "Paternity Questions?" 

And I said "YES." 

I saw "for the alleged mother, father and child" 

And I said "I totally need this."

I realize that the intended market for the Public Transit Paternity Test is not 30-something white boys from Ohio, but it made me realize that I have more in common with my fellow riders than I thought.  

I may not be a 17 year old grandmother looking to find out who my baby daddy is, or if my son is really the father of 'that girls" baby, but after talking on the phone to my "alleged" parents, I think I might order one, and take a little trip back to ohio.  

Can you get a DNA sample from a roach clip?