“PB4WEGO”: When a Harmless Joke Runs Afoul of Bureaucracy
For fifteen years, Wendy Auger’s license plate brought tiny bursts of joy to New Hampshire roads. A simple string of seven characters—PB4WEGO—served as a universal parental reminder: “Pee before we go.”
It was practical, funny, and instantly relatable to anyone who had ever wrangled kids during errands or family trips. Drivers smiled at it, clerks processed it, and nobody questioned it—until one quiet government decision turned the harmless plate into a bureaucratic offense.
Auger’s surprise came in the form of an official notice: the plate was being revoked. According to the New Hampshire DMV, the message violated rules prohibiting “inappropriate or offensive” content. After more than a decade of approval, the reversal shocked her. The phrase, she insisted, reflected everyday life, not vulgarity.
The controversy highlights the tension between public decency and personal expression. License plates are government-issued property, yet vanity plates allow individuals a limited form of speech.
State officials defended their decision, citing rules that technically categorize references to bodily functions as prohibited. Critics, however, argued that intent, context, and public perception should matter—and pointed out that PB4WEGO had existed for fifteen years without a single complaint.
As the story gained attention, support for Auger spread nationwide. Many saw the decision as a case of unnecessary overreach: a state that proudly declares “Live Free or Die” suddenly restricting harmless humor. The debate sparked a broader conversation about free expression on public property, consistency in enforcement, and the subtle ways bureaucracy can erode everyday freedoms.
For Auger, the plate was more than a novelty. It punctuated mundane routines with small moments of connection—grins at stoplights, chuckles in parking lots, a shared understanding among parents. Losing it felt personal, a reminder that even small forms of expression can carry emotional weight.
The controversy eventually reached the governor’s office. Governor Chris Sununu quipped that DMV officials may have been a bit too “stopped up” in interpreting the rules, signaling that the agency might reconsider. What began as a quiet administrative decision became a national conversation about humor, common sense, and the limits of government regulation.
Conclusion
Wendy Auger’s battle over PB4WEGO wasn’t really about a license plate. It was about whether everyday humor, shared human experiences, and small gestures of levity still have a place in public life.
The story illustrates how bureaucracy can strip meaning from simple things—and how people will push back when that line is crossed. Sometimes, defending freedom doesn’t require grand speeches or sweeping laws. Sometimes, it’s just seven letters and a reminder that being human shouldn’t need government approval.