I can’t prove it, but I’m pretty sure that there is a time warp/tear in the Department of Motor Vehicles. About a month or so ago I got a letter from the Good ol’ Motor Vehicle Department (They now call themselves “MVD”. Sounds too disease-y for me, so I continue to call it “DMV”- among other less choice names) stating that the picture on my driver’s license is over ten years old so I have to get an updated photo, or the whole license will expire resulting in fees, fines, tickets, jail time, blah blah blah. Why couldn’t they just use my brand-new-this-year passport photo you ask? Seeing as it was taken at the DMV and issued in May OF THIS YEAR. “Oh. We don’t do that.” Of course you don’t. That would be EFFICIENT. Can’t have that.
( The part saying that the pic is ten years was patently untrue BTW. As I verified with the THIRD DMV lady that I saw yesterday, that although I may have gotten a new photo done in October of 2011, when the DMV changed their picture programs in January of 2012- the older pictures weren’t in the correct format. Please go stand in yet another line and that will be $12. Assholes. Another case of “Common Core” math. 2014 – 2011 = ten years. Yep. Sounds about right.
Jumping back to the beginning- I avoid the DMV like the Bubonic Plague. Any time I have a registration necessity, I go to a lovely third part affiliate, that charges me a small service fee and has me in and out in 15-20 minutes. In addition to that they are open until 7pm during the week and (gasp! cluctch the pearls!) are also open on SATURDAYS. But, lo and behold they are unable to perform specific tasks like passports, anything to do with licensing including re-doing pictures.My belief is that this requirement is the sole reason the DMV still exists, or everyone would just use the third party sites.
OK, so there are only about five people ahead of me in the “information line”. To those of you unfamiliar with DMV protocols, the information line is the first step in the long process of working through the system. This line is solely to determine what your number will be based on what service you require. Once you receive your number, you are then stuffed into one of several other lines. Only five people ahead of me here, and a photo re-do should not take as long as most of the other stuff, like driving tests, license reinstatement, etc. Only five people in this line, I remind myself. Shouldn’t be too much longer, this should move along fairly quickly, I think (mistakenly). The round desk has two ladies at it, one of which is cleaning up her “end of the day” papers, so she can get out on time (it is 2pm, they are open until 5pm) because she has a hot date with someone she met on Tinder. WOW- people really have no care about what they say in public.
This is where time started to crawl.
Anyway, hot-Tinder-Date-Girl is busily shuffling and stapling papers while the other lady is trying to translate in horrendous Spanish/English/Hand Gestures what to do with a particular form to a prior customer, and has her hands pretty full. She does bother to look up and address the next customer (me- it had been a good 3-4 minutes since the last person had gotten a number, or anyone had addressed any of us in line) and says “Please proceed to counter. SHE will assist you.” Which apparently pisses off Tinder-Date girl, who as I walk up to the counter looks over cattily at Bad-Interpreter-Lady, then at me and while glaring says, “Ma’am. I will be with you in a moment. Step back in line”. Then proceeds to pull out her compact and checks her eye makeup. Really?!?! Seriously?
Fine, I can play nice (sometimes). So I go to walk back to the front of the line, the lady behind me hears all of this and tells me “I ain’t movin’ back none. You can go to the end.”. Awesome. Not like I wanted to stand next to your cat piss smelling, stained up, mu-mu wearing, cigarette stank-sodden ass anyway. Cat Lady is out of her fucking gourd if she thinks I am going to the back of a now twenty some person line and letting her take my spot. The only thing that crusty old bat was missing was a set of pink hair curlers and matching flip flops. Walking back to the counter again- I nicely let Tinder-Date know that I will just wait at the counter while she gets ready. I get simultaneous death-glares from both Cat lady and that Tinder-bitch. I am now clinging to the last threads of my patience while dreaming about delivering a couple of light death-punches to both broads wrinkled-up turkey necks. Tinder-bitch sighs. Loudly. Then petulantly demands “What do you want?!?”. At this point I really want to cuss out this jerk-off, but decide to go sickeningly-syrupy nice instead. Probably has something to do with what I assume is a supervisor walking up behind Tinder-bitch, so I smile and sweetly say, “How about service with a smile? Some common courtesy? Or possibly a teeny sliver of decorum from my public servants? No? How about a number for a photo re-do?” As you can imagine, her oh-so-joyous demeanor rapidly descends from uber-pissy to downright hostile. As I see that she is about to make a snappy comment back to me her eyes waver. I can see the exact milli-second that her gaze is caught by “The Supervisor” and MAGICALLY her whole attitude changes. “So sorry Ma’am. ” She pipes in cheerily. “What was it you needed again?”. **Facepalm**
I finally get my number A051…The digital ticker is calling up A017. Sigh. This part did not actually take that long. Only 35 minutes and I was called up to Teller #2 to get my picture taken. Which she had to do twice. Because she couldn’t figure out why the flash was so bright and was going off several times per click. All that was missing was the dubstep music to go with the strobe light. Very happy to note that I must not be seizure prone. However, I just can’t get my eyes to adjust, she hands me back my paperwork. To which I ask while blinking rapidly if they will just be mailing it to my house then? “Oh no, Ma’am.” Then I wait here for the hard copy and to pay? “No, Ma’am. You have to get back in line. It will be about two more hours for processing” Good Lord! Can’t you just mail it to me? “No, Ma’am” she explains in her most patient talking-to- a- slightly- slow- toddler voice, “We have to verify your old license and information”. You mean the one I just handed to you with the paperwork, that you had to verify on the computer next to you, so that you could take my picture? Why can’t it all just be done here? To that her reply was “A052!”. Dismissed, I guess. FUCKING DMV. This is why people hate you. At the same time she yelled”A052!”, the next in line for the photo pay line was only A07. Jesus effing Christ.
With no other choice, I find an end seat on a bench about two empty spaces away from an elderly gentleman and start surfing social media. Two benches over a toddler starts to scream, and his mother changes his shitty diaper right there on the bench, instead of going to the restroom to do so. As gross as it is, I understand why. If she leaves this room, the time-space continuum will alter, the numbers will fly by and she will miss her turn. What I could not comprehend, is how next to shitty-diaper-lady a twenties something couple were totally OK to suck face. My only observation at that point is they must smell equally as bad as the diaper for that to not affect them. The bench next to them is pissed off Cat Lady, who is currently angry because she can’t “Vape” inside. You mean you can’t smoke in a facility that has NO SMOKING signs everywhere? WHAAAAT? People.
After updating Google Circles, WordPress, playing on Face Book, checking on Tumblr and contemplating crushing some candy (which I despise, but would waster some time)- I check the time. It has to be getting close to 4 by now. Nope- 3pm. I have only been in this den of lunacy for an hour. Feels like eternity. Perhaps this is where Satan is sent to contemplate his failures. As I ruminate on that, I watch a steady stream of the B-N, and P-Z numbers get called up and benches around are starting to clear out. Quite a few in front of and behind me are completely empty, so I know that the time HAS to be coming for all of us “A’s”…Please GOD.
Then the most ridiculous thing happens.
I am “enjoying” the nice two person-wide gap between myself and the same elderly gentleman on the bench , when this 19(ish) year old jackass and his three idiotic friends decide to stuff themselves between me and the older gentleman on the same bench. Why, you ask? I have no freaking idea, but as his narrow little ass descended down almost crushing my purse I had to snatch it out from under him. That is it! I have had enough of being polite to assholes! I let him know in no uncertain terms that I was not relocating no matter how god damned uncomfortably close he sat to me. I also made sure that they knew I was filming their asinine “proximity”. Took the fun out of it when I heard one of the yahoos ask another what “proximity” was. Sigh. Oh, well- they understood the blue light of Face Book. Idiots
By the time I finally got out of that mass of screaming babies, and inappropriate displays of affection laden hell hole, I knew I was NOT going to the gym like the Hal Higdon App says I should. Instead I begged the hubs to take me out for a drink…or seven.