After several calls to other people I know who run driving record reports, they all came back with the same dreaded answer, "You need to call the DMV."
Damn.
The DMV is always such a nuisance. Sometimes you get lucky. You walk in to an empty lobby. You print your little "take-a-number" receipt, and just as you're about to sit down, your number is called. That's a good day at the DMV. But most times, like today, you walk into a very busy lobby. Some old guy who refuses to wear reading glasses (or forgot them) is standing with his equally old wife trying to figure out what the little sign about the "take a number" printer says. (Just in case you're wondering, it says, "Take a Number.") Once you finally get your number, you glance at it quickly, and starting looking above the counters for the number reader, which, much to your dismay, reads a number 20 less than the one you're holding. You scan the lobby for an available seat, preferably one that is in between two empty seats. (It's just bad form to sit right next to a stranger.) You slump into the half-cracked orange plastic seat and start rummaging through your purse for something to read or play with. You just know this is going to take forever.
Ten minutes pass and you're done reading the back of the gum wrapper (3 times), all the receipts that have crumpled into the bottom of your purse, and played five games of Brick-Out on your cell phone. You're pretty much out of entertainment options at this point, so you decide to just sit and subtly people watch.
You notice that no one is smiling. (Why does everyone come to the DMV in a bad mood? Doesn't that just perpetuate the problem?)
You notice that when there aren't 3 empty seats in a row (so that someone could sit in the middle seat - not too close to the strangers), people would rather stand.
You notice that there is at least one mother (or father) with a buttload of kids, all under the age of 5, who think the DMV lobby is a playground.
You notice that there is always one clerk who yells out the next number, but no one can hear her. She thinks she's yelling, but, in fact, she's not.
And then in comes a scrubby dude, who walks past you, entirely too close, and sits two seats to the right of you. Seconds later, you get wind of his body odor. He smells like cigarettes and alcohol and looks like he hasn't showered in a week. You immediately think that this guy is probably going to be sharing the road with you... and probably isn't doing so sober.
Moments later, his girlfriend (girl friend, sister, crack dealer) walks in behind him and begins to talk in "code". "Bev is ... finding... one of her 'places'... Call us when you're ready to go." You notice she has only a few rotted teeth left, smells of cigarettes and alcohol, and is very fidgety.
"81?" ... pause... "81?" ... pause... "82?" ... pause... "82?"
You pray, "Oh, please, please let 82 be absent..."
Dang. Number 82 meanders up to the counter.
Another 20 minutes pass.
A disheveled father and his teen boy walk in and sit directly across from you. They don't look anything alike. Father is heavy, wears his pants way too high with a belt way too cinched, hasn't shaved in a few days (at least), and what's left of his frizzy hair looks like Einstein with a bald spot. The son, on the other hand is well-groomed and focuses solely on texting. Maybe they aren't related. Maybe he's adopted. Maybe they just happened to come in at the same time and sit next to each other.
Bald-spot Einstein takes out his cell phone and dials. Seconds later, at a ridiculous volume, he begins to speak. "HI! Hey! How are ya?" ... pause... "Yeah, still lookin' for a job..." (No kidding?) "Well, I found a listing for..." (inaudible)..."but it's in Manila... Yeah, so... I guess I'll be buying a ticket to Manila..."
You try to stop listening, but it's almost impossible. It's like someone pressing their body against you and speaking directly into your ear, "Is this too close for you?"
It's not too close. It's just too loud.
And then you notice that on the other side of that same row, there are two guys sitting very close together hovering over a cell phone and laughing. They are looking at each other with 7-Up eyes. (You know… eyes that look like they are filled with fizzy bubbles.) They are probably gay. And look how happy they are.
You start thinking of your gay friend who just had a birthday and went hiking with his gay friends and took silly pictures of a big carrot balloon tied to a string, tied to your friend’s finger, who sat in an outhouse with the balloon hovering outside. (Seen here.)"91?" ... Pause
Dang.
Your mind starts to wander. You wonder when it will stop raining. You wonder why people even bother with umbrellas. You wonder when you’ll be able to mow the lawn again without sinking into the muddy slop that is your backyard this time of year. You wonder where the secret goal is in World 4-3 in Super Mario Bros Wii. You wonder how fast the rest of the afternoon will go so you can get back home and pop open a cold one. You wonder what the husband is going to make for dinner. You hope it’s something fried and salty because you don’t really care about Type 2 diabetes today. You wonder if you’ll ever fit into to your pre-moving-to-Oregon jeans again. You wonder when you’ll plan your next vacation. You wonder if you should just take the rest of today as vacation.
And then you realize this isn’t vacation. You’re at the DMV.
“95?” … pause… “95?” … pause…
“Oh, please, please….”
“96?” … pause… “96?” … pause…
“Just two more!!!”
“97?” … pause… “97?” … pause…
You think to yourself, “Really? Did that many people really just come in, take a number, and leave?”
“98?”
YES!!!! The number 98 never sounded so good.
So… I ordered my driving record. It will be faxed over tomorrow morning. The clerk behind the counter was very pleasant. I smiled at him. He smiled at me.
A 45 minute wait and a $2 fee.
Hardly seems worth it.
I really do need a vacation.
1 comment:
I love this - such an apt description of what goes on at the DMV!
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