warm feelings at the DMV

After carelessly driving and texting while driving for the last two weeks, my bank teller notified me the other day that my license expired. "Really? That's not good." I said and walked away wondering why I never received a DMV notification earlier. One look at my driver license and it dawned on me that I never bothered to change my address. Why didn't I correct this detail? Because if my license was stolen, the thief would not A) know where I live and stalk me, or B) would break into someone else's home and not mine. Yeah, this is my rational thinking at work. My glass is always half empty so I'm vigilantly prepared. You never know if someone attempts to break into your home. I wanted to install these booby trap iron stakes that drop down from our flat entrance in case a burglar manages to bypass the gate but my family would have none of that. We compromised and had pinhole cameras installed instead.

Anyway, I tried to make a DMV appointment but the earliest I could get was a month later. The non-appointment visit would have to do and I spent the day watching the wait-time monitor online for the best window of time to visit.

The next day, I left work early, arrived at the DMV office at the tail end of everyone's lunch break, and was 8th in the non-appt line. I received my form, filled it out, returned to the form monitor for my number and sat in an uncomfortable, plastic school cafeteria chair and waited until my lower back started hurting. Half an hour later, my number was called.

The bored looking young man behind the counter didn't look especially happy to be working there. He was all business in a dark plaid shirt and black framed glasses. His movements were meticulous and routine. He must have been doing this line of work for years. I handed him my paper work and he went about reading it, correcting my bad penmanship, stamping it, reading it some more, requesting I sign it, stamping it again, and having me initial it. Every so often he would glance up at me, probably to make sure I didn't grow bored and wander off or start yelling in broken English for no reason like the older gentleman four booths down from us.

I paid the fee, took the eye test, signed my John Hancock several times before being directed to the photo line. No thank you, or have a nice day. He just looked at me with a "go away now, I'm busy" glare. The photo line took another 15 minutes and the lady taking the photos was rather pleasant. She was cheery and actually conversed with me! It was like meeting a real human being at the DMV. Total time for my visit, 1:25:00. Not as miserable as I thought it would be and because of my spotless driving record, I didn't have to take the written test. The studying I did was all for naught.