I had to go to the DMV to renew my license today. I guess they periodically have to make sure I know the correct distance to slow down before a stop sign, in case my sterling driving record is somehow an anomaly. Either that, or the bureaucracy must be fed. I don’t mind paying the fee ($31, in case you’re wondering) and getting my picture and vital info updated (why yes, I still weigh the same!), but I find the test mildly insulting.
So, I left work early and trudged to my local DMV shack. Thanks to reduced hours the DMV is alway crowded, and today was par. I had to park all the way in the back, which isn’t quite as far as it sounds but it meant I had to cross the parking lot on foot with my daughter. There was a big truck parked there unloading some supplies, and a dude who was in a hurry swerved around it and almost hit my daughter in the process. The dad in me came out, and I actually yelled at him “slow the fuck down you fucking asshole!” and gave him the hard stare. Of course, right away my daughter asked me “daddy, did you just use the ‘f’ word?” to which I replied “you’re goddamn right I ordered the code red!” OK, not really, I just said I did, while still keeping my eye on the idiot. I was surprised because I was ready to fight him, which is pretty stupid. I’m not surprised I was doing something stupid; that happens frequently. I was surprised I was getting all macho. That doesn’t happen much – experience has taught me that if you’re itching for a fight, soon enough somebody will kick your ass. It isn’t worth it.
Got inside the “office” and it was the usual mass of humanity you see there: older women dressed way to sluttily for their current bodies, parents with nervous-looking teens about to take their first behind-the-wheel tests, lots of Mexicans (of course, that is true just about everywhere in the LANC), creepy old guys, the obligatory people who look homeless, people with weird haircuts that look DIY – and that was just the workers behind the counter! OK, not really. Most of the workers were women of various shapes and ages; very few men there.
Fortunately, I had an appointment so I got to skip the intro line. I enjoyed my feeling of smug superiority as I bypassed all of those appointment-less schmucks. Ha HA! I am so better than you. I got my ticket, and within two minutes I was called to the counter. I got a latina whose eye shadow matched her turquoise-blue blouse; I noticed this as I was trying to discreetly look down it. Yes, men do that. She went through the drill: is your address correct (no, let me update it), do you still weigh 205 (jeez, look at me), can you line three on the first chart (yes I can), are you wearing contacts (no, I got LASIK a few years ago), and will you take me out to dinner and then pound me like a $5 omelette after? OK, she didn’t ask the last part, but I was ready if she did. I lied about my weight, updated my address, then I got the test. Whee.
Since I was a renewal, I had only 18 questions, three of which I could miss and still pass. Simple enough. Actually, it was pretty simple; I only missed one. Sweet. Got my picture taken (big smile!) and my thumb printed, and I was out the door in less than 30 minutes. Appointments rock! I was surprised that I had such a positive experience there.
I’m still glad I’m done with it for at least another six years. Yay!