Yesterday morning, I drove to the DMV to renew my drivers license and get a replacement sticker for hubs’ plate. When I got there, the lot was empty. I forgot that they’re closed on Mondays.
This morning, I went back. Being the end of the month/year, and that I had a ton to do, the parking lot was full and the line was starting to leak out the door. By the time I found a parking spot, the line was contained inside once again. I thought that was a good sign. Silly me.
Once we snaked our way through line #1, the “greeter” dude gave me a number and told me to have a seat over there. At least this “line” had seats and was away from the door that kept letting in the subzero wind. The girl and I played on our phones while we waited. I caught up on Facebook. And we waited. And waited. Finally, the automated voice announced, “Now serving B217 at window 5.” That was us!
We made our way up there, and I got to answer questions about things like my current weight (cough), if I used drugs or alcohol that could impair my driving (not while driving), or if I’d been committed to a mental institution (at times, maybe should have been). Then, I was directs to line #3, where I got to pay for my license renewal. Next line… get a new photo taken. I fluffed my hair, put my best chin forward, and smiled. Oh, and got to wait again for my shiny new license to be printed.
New DL in hand, the girl and I marched back to the “greeter” and got a new number to take care of the plate sticker problem (the one we got wouldn’t stick). The girl was understandably getting antsy, as we’d been there for around 45 minutes by that time. They called number 64. I looked at my ticket. 88. Oh boy. Well, at least after this we could leave.
We stood and waited, and waited, and waited. 76. A couple of chairs opened up and we took seats. I was annoyed, but coping… until the girl’s phone died. Then, things really went downhill. 80.
A man who could have been Chekov from Star Trek checked to make sure we had all of our ducks in a row. Yep. We were just waiting, less and less patiently. 86. I told the girl to get up. We were going to get closer to the counters, lest we not move up fast enough and they skip over us. Finally, someone called out, “88?” I held up my ticket and said, “Bingo!”
I explained to the woman at the counter that the sticker wouldn’t stick. No problem. But with the next one, I should just make sure to warm up the plate before trying to adhere the sticker. She handed me a piece of paper and said, “Take this and go
Through the cashier line. She will give you the sticker.” At that point, I about lost it. “Seriously?!” I asked. “I’ve already been here for a hour and a half!” She mumbled an apology as she walked away. I was flabbergasted. Why in the world did I have to go to a cashier when I wasn’t even paying anything.
I grumbled and the girl cried our way through the line, to end up at the window immediately next to the woman who told me to get in the cashier line. That woman took my piece of paper, tapped a couple of keys on her computer, reached towards the printer, and handed me my new sticker. Was that so flipping difficult that the previous woman, with the same computer and printer setup couldn’t do it?
The girl and I finally broke free from DMV Hell, one hour and 45 minutes after we’d arrived. Now, hubs is driving us to our New Year’s Eve destination as I’m blogging this from my phone (hence any ridiculous typos). May the drinking soon commence. And may you all have a happy New Year!