I'm in the process of putting a new (to me) car on the road... which meant that I had to deal with the inevitable trip to...::dun dun duuuun:: the DMV. ::shudder::
I walk into the building holding 8 pieces of paper. "Oh, DMV Gods, I bring thee offerings of much paperwork! Will that be enough to appease you today?" Seriously.
I go in & take a number; 11. They're currently waiting on #5. Not bad, not bad. I go over to the wall-o-forms... which, I might add, is blocked by a row of chairs. Yes, to accomodate more waiting people, they've put a row of chairs right in front of the forms... so you have to like shove your armpit into these peoples faces to get what you need, especially when you're short like me. I almost had to climb on a crackhead ladies lap to reach the shit.
I now have 10 pieces of paper, and a little ticket with my number. I sit down to wait.
Of course when yr at the DMV, you watch & listen to the people that are being waited on at the counter. It's always nerve racking... watching those before you get shot down....
Someone will walk up to the counter carrying handfulls of forms & paperwork, & that snot behind the desk will just flick through them, give a look over her glasses & say "Do you have form FR16?" "Well I... I don't know... I thought that..." "Yeah, you're going to need to fill out form FR16 before we can get started. NEXT!" "But I've been waiting for over an hour... my husband is..." "NEXT!!" & she has nothing to do but shuffle off with her head hung down dejectadly.
They won't budge an inch on anything. I watched one woman try to put a car on the road... she had the title & was trying to transfer into her name. "Is this the person's name that you bought it from?" "Yes." "Well, they actually needed to sign on THIS line... so you're going to have to get back with them & have them do that. Until then I can't help you." It was the same bitch behind the counter... the eye-glass-looker-over-er. If I had to make a guess... I'd say it's been at least 3 years since she's gotten laid. Seriously. What a bitch.
I can only imagine what the application looks like to work there: Question 1- Do you enjoy the feeling of crushing others hopes & dreams? Question 2- Do you feel a smug sense of superiority abusing what little power you have? Special note: all applicants must pass a rigorous 'glare & stare' test, as well as a bitchiness exam, and must score at least 8 out of 10 on both to be eligible for employment here.
It's always nerve racking... you're never sure if you've got everything you need with you, and there's no way to find out until AFTER you've waited for way to fucking long. Because time moves slower at the DMV. I don't know if it's the crackheads, the screaming babies, the bitchy counter help... or maybe there's something to that smell in the air... that smell of piss & vinegar & sweat & broken dreams. Maybe ya just kind of catch a buzz off of it, & that's why 15 minutes at the DMV is equivelant to 4 hours of Chinese water torture... or listening to an Alanis Morisette album in it's entirety; however ya want to look at it.