I had to go to the DMV today. That’s right down to the actual DMV. Second only to the Dept. of Vital Statistics (if you’ve lost your birth certificate you’ve been here), the DMV is just the oddest place on the planet.
I’m not sure what it is, but every time I go to the DMV it seems like the same damn people are back there with me. It doesn’t matter when you go, there’s a line and a room full of the most interesting characters waiting for their cryptic number to be called so they can find their way to the magic window.
Nowhere else do I feel more like a lemming, or a droid waiting to be picked up by the mother ship than at the DMV.
The cattle car line up to get out of Costco is a dream compared to the DMV.
It’s just one of those places people seem to go when they have an issue, a real issue like, “I’m trying to get my tags for my car, but it won’t run so how am I supposed to get it through emissions?” Not kidding, this woman was in front of me.
Why the hell does she need tags if the car doesn’t run? More importantly, couldn’t she have called and received this information? Why would you stand in line on a Friday afternoon? Are you thinking they’re going to make an exception for you because you showed up in person? Clearly I could never work at the DMV. The woman behind the counter was very patient.
Only at the DMV; and these types of “issues” are everywhere. I wasn’t in a hurry so I sat back and enjoyed the show. My number (A007) was called and I reported to Window 18.
I was there to get my picture updated on my license. In Arizona, your license doesn’t expire for a million years, but your picture needs to be updated every 12 years. It makes absolutely no sense to me, but that’s the way it is.
I was in and out in about an hour and a half, but I almost had to tear myself away. It turned out to be incredibly entertaining. As I was leaving I saw a bumper sticker on a car that said, “We’re all connected.”
I suppose we are, but if I have my choice please don’t put me next to the man in the Pantera shirt with the 6 pack of beer at the DMV. The lady behind the counter, the same one dealing with the broken down car tags, told him he would have to remove the beer from the building. This lady should be sainted.
He was really put out and told her he didn’t want the cans to get warm, so he brought them in. No bag, just fingers in the plastic carrying a 6 pack into the DVM. Classic.
If you’ve never been to the DMV, or haven’t gone recently get down there. So much fun.
That’s all from the laundry room. Get your Zs.