The DMV is Not Hell
So. It is Friday, December 30, the last normal business day of 2005. It’s around noon. I am preparing to go to bed after fourteen hours of staring at HTML code. As I crawl under the sheets, I think “Oh, 2006. How nice. I turn XX and… my license expires! Oh shit!”
Thirty minutes later, I’m at the DMV. The last Friday afternoon of the year is not my preferred DMV visiting time, but my car tags are also expiring on the first. Some things must be done. After an hour and a half wait, I get called up to a window, where the clerk tells me we can renew my license but she won’t give me even temporary plates without an IM test. Do you think I have a recent IM test on this car? You jest. “But my tags expire in two days. I’ll never get the test done and get back here in time to get the paperwork taken care of.”
She doesn’t care. No IM results, no tags, no car for me.
Whoops.
To the garage then. “It’ll take an hour,” says the mechanic, totally bored.
He sniggers every time he walks in the waiting room for the next hour and sees me sitting there. Sure, I could have walked to WalMart, but… meh.
Forty minutes later, the car is done. See? It pays to hang around looking pathetic.
As I’m driving to the DMV, it occurs to me that I don’t have a current insurance card in my car. This doesn’t worry me normally because my car has been insured continuously since I bought it, and with one phone call I can fax my card to anyone who asks for it. But, given the DMV’s rather… meticulous… attention to details like IM tests, I figure I better have a current card on hand before I go back.
Off to work then, eh? Not my work; my mother’s. She has a fax machine. I commandeer it, call my insurance company, and stare at the printer for twenty minutes waiting for the fax to appear. Then I realize this is a printer and not a fax machine and head off into the front office to find out where the fax machine is. I was a little tired, ok?
Back at the DMV, I look around for my clerk, who promised to let me cut in line when I returned. Unfortunately, my clerk is gone. I grab a number: only 100 people ahead of me.
Thirty minutes later, my clerk appears from some back room, asking for anyone with title work.
Title work? That’s me! Yay! Save me, Super Clerk!
She does, smiling at me. “Aw. I remember you.”
Ah, yes. Me. The clueless one.
Back in her office (she has an office? Who knew?) the clerk suddenly remembers I also need a new license.
“I can’t help you. You have to do that up front.”
Figures. On the other hand, with eighty people still ahead of me, it’s not like I’ll have missed my turn. I start to leave.
“Wait!”
Your wish is my command, Super Clerk.
“Here’s a new number. You won’t have to wait so long. If they already called this one while you were in here, come back here and I’ll give you a new new number.”
I think I’m in love.
The timing is excellent, too. I no sooner walk back into the waiting area than my new number is called. Sweet.
The license is quickly dealt with and then my car title is changed over and new plates are issued. Minutes later I’m grimacing for the camera and minutes after that my new license is in my hand.
It’s everything you’d expect from a DMV photo.
I feel momentary regret that I had to turn in my old one. After all, it did say “Under 21” still and I got a cheap thrill every time I bought alcohol. I was just waiting for a waitress to say “but you’re underage” without looking for my birthday. Of course, not one person said that, so I don’t know who I was fooling.
We can all rest easy, though. In the next few hours I will finish this bottle of champagne, the year will tick over, I’ll be a day older, and I’ll still be a legal driver. Well, except for the being drunk bit. When I’m sober, I’ll be legal. And my car will be legal, too. I know you’re relieved.
And… I’d like to point out that although I did spend several hours at the DMV, every time I actually worked with a DMV clerk they were polite and friendly. Despite the fact that most of the people waiting in the chairs were not so polite or friendly. And Super Clerk went out of her way to help me out of my situation as much as she could. It was my fault for waiting until the last minute to do all the paperwork. She didn’t have to help me.
Happy New Year, everyone. Hug a DMV employee.
You Called Me
[ring]
Computer Voice: This is not a solicitation. Please press ‘1’ to talk to an agent.
[1]
Bored Human Voice: Hello?
Me: Hello.
Bored Human Voice [slightly impatient]: What do you need?
Me: I don’t know. You called me.
Bored Human Voice: Right. I need your phone number.
Me: Why? You just dialed it to call me.
Bored Human Voice: It’s an automatic dialer. I need your phone number.
Me: [Long Pause]
Bored Human Voice [Definitely Irritated]: It’s a simple question.
Me: Yes… but… You know… actually… who are you?
Bored Human Voice: Steve.
Me: I mean what company are you with?
Steve: XXX Incorporated.
Me: Really? Prove it.
Steve: What?
Me: I just got cold-called by a company that wouldn’t identify itself until I asked… twice… and I’m disinclined to give out any personal information until I know you are who you say you are.
Steve: It’s a phone number, not a social security number.
Me: Do you know what a clever scammer can do with a phone number?
Steve: No.
Me: Me neither.
Steve: We can’t do anything unless you help us out.
Me: Ok. What number are you calling from?
Steve: XXX-XXX-XXXX.
Me: That’s not the number I have for XXX Incorporated.
Steve: Probably because your file got moved from department X to Y [basically, from “follow up on this” to “this customer is a royal pain in the ass”]
Me: Sure.
Steve: I suppose it won’t do any good to ask for your social security number?
Me: Are you kidding? I hang up on people who ask for my social.
Steve: I’m not surprised.
Me: Look, what do you want? I have things to do today.
Steve: Without looking at your file, I couldn’t say.
Me: So look at my file.
Steve: I don’t know who you are.
Me: But you called me.
Steve: But it’s this auto-dialer system.
Me: Pretty stupid system, isn’t it?
Steve: Not most days.
Me: Why don’t you call me back directly when you figure out who I am and what you want from me?
Steve: And if we called you directly would you work with us?
Me: If you could verify that you are who you are and have a legitimate reason for dealing with me.
Steve: We need to get this dealt with…
Me: Actually, if you are who you say you are, you don’t have to do anything for thirty days while I’m disputing the bill. I don’t have to pay you, and you don’t have to harass me like this.
Steve: I’m not harassing you.
Me: XXX Incorporated is, and you say you’re with them.
Steve: What’s it going to take to get this dealt with?
Me: Look, Steve…
Steve [sounding hopeful]: Yes?
Me: Tell you what. I’ll call the number I have for XXX Incorporated, and whoever comes on the line can tell me whatever it is you want to talk to me about, not that you know.
Steve: But the number you have is the wrong department.
Me: I’m sure they’ll transfer me.
Steve: Right back to me!
Me: Ok, well, when I talk to you in five minutes then, you’ll have my sincere apology for doubting your legitimacy.
Steve: Why are you being difficult?
Me: Because it’s 7:30 a.m., because the bill you are probably calling me about is in dispute with the company who originally issued it, and because your company is going to call again in two hours… and four… and six… and every time you’re going to expect me to fill in all the details and spout my personal information out to anyone who asks.
Steve: This is the way our system works!
Me: And this is how my system works:
[click]
I’m not coordinated enough for this kind of thing
Imagine:
Me, sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch, at the second party of the day, wondering when I last slept and if it wasn’t two days ago, and would the bank be open the next day, and in the middle of all these important, egotistical thoughts having a six-week old baby unceremoniously dumped in my lap.
Er… um… and what does one do with a six-week old baby?
So now we have me sitting on the floor with a baby wrapped up in a blanket blinking up at me with a slightly cross-eyed expression that could mean she just can’t focus yet (like I would know) or might mean she’s pooping herself (like I would know). And she suddenly decides to start spitting up, except she’s on her back, and even I know that’s not a good thing (the choking sounds were a good clue, I have to admit).
So. Baby has to get from on her back in my arms to propped against my shoulder, which would be fine, except my sweater is dry-clean only and I’m not fond of milky drool all over myself. And the blanket that could go over my shoulder is under the baby, who is too young to prop up her own head, and I’ll be damned if I know how to get the blanket out from under her while still supporting her head so I can move her to my shoulder before she chokes on her own drool.
Don’t expectant mothers have to go through classes to learn this stuff?
Don’t worry. The baby got burped and probably only suffered mild whiplash.
I, however, suffered an evening of being told how maternal I look.
Maternal. Me?
Did hell freeze over?
It’s a Wonderful Gag
Some Guy; He’s probably important, like the main character or something, but I’ll be damned if I know because It’s a Wonderful Life is one of those movies you never really watch:
I’ll… I’ll… I’ll get you the moon. I’ll lasso it and I’ll get you the moon.
Mary, whose name we know because it’s in every other line:
I’ll take it. And then what?
That Guy:
Then you can swallow it.
Bwah ha ha!
Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Heh. Ha ha.
Snicker.
Snerk.
“Swallow it.”
Hee hee hee *snort* heeeee ha!
Sorry. Don’t know what came over me there.
I’m sure it has nothing whatsoever to do with the cider I’m drinking.
“You can swallow it.”
Snorfle. Phhhheh heh heh.
Sounds of the Season
[ring]
[ring]
[beep] I’m not here right now. Please leave your name and number… [beep beep]
[from the bedroom] Mrawwwh-hrumph-huh? Whazzat?
[On the answering machine: Muzak masquerading as Christmas tunes]
[More Muzak masquerading as Christmas tunes]
Who puts people on hold before they even pick up, anyway?
[More Muzak]
And who would stay on hold without even hearing a ‘hello’ first?
[Human voice replacing Muzak on the answering machine] Hello? Hello?
Actually, it’s quite funny listening to telemarketers who can’t figure out the answering machine has picked up the call.
[Click]
[In the living room: Swish swash]
[Thud]
[Tingaling tink ping]
[ting ting]
[tink-taling]
[From the bedroom] Jasper get away from the Christmas tree!
[From the living room: gallump-gallump-da-na-da-da! gallump-gallump-da-na-dada!]
[Suddenly in the bedroom: swush THUMP!] Mraaaow?
[From under the covers] Ffffrah-huh? Jasper? Go play with the Christmas tree and leave me alone.
[Zzzz *honk* zzzz zzz *snort*]
[ring]
[ring]
[beep] I’m not here right now. Please leave…