Now, as most of you know, none of my posts are profound or at all groundbreaking. This particular post will be equally similar, yet sadly true. Never in my life have I encountered an individual waltzing, strolling gracefully, or dancing in the rain after leaving the DMV. In fact, I believe most ex convicts exiting the DMV have a high, if not 100 percent chance of offending again within minutes or seconds upon leaving the DMV. The level of impatience and anger manifests to a level even the Pope couldn’t resist.
Today was no exception. I am not an ex con, (depending on the definition…just a simple man wishing to renew his license), but, after shaving this morning, grooming my receding hairline and putting on a nice shirt, and after the 2 Plus hours waiting for my number, 379, (this should be noted) rage became a part of the equation. During the 2 plus hours, my facial hair growth appeared to be the length of a non sophisticated guru. Honestly, I had a five o’clock shadow before my picture could be released to the public or my wife. Personally, I don’t give one good damn about the public, but when my wife witnesses this cross culture picture of me resembling mug shots of Gary Busey, Nick Nolte, while adding a sprinkle of James Brown into the mix, it’s a bit embarrassing. Especially, since I just had my birthday and merely wished to renew my license without any unlawful disorder.
If you enter the DMV thinking you will return to your Aunt’s funeral within two days, well then you should expect and deserve to stay there for the next three days. I was actually pleased when the man assisting me said I would return to my wife by dinner. (I arrived at 10:00 AM to the DMV, merely eight hours before I should have dinner ready). So, my rage was not confined to the time constraint, but the ridiculous fact that after waiting for 2 negative hours, and being informed 25 bucks would be sufficient at the desk, I became additionally agitated when I owed one hundred dollars and was unable to pay with my Visa Card. They only take Master Card. I implore you, I am not making this up. I only had 80 or so dollars in my wallet. Therefore, I was forced to sprint across the street and withdraw, or as I felt, “withdrawal” more cash from the AT -Am I an idiot machine.
Refusing to wait in line for several more decades, and not having a razor handy, I ran back to the same desk, plowing through countless confused Asians, Hispanics, Middle Easterners, Russians, Indians, Native Americans, and two white people. She allowed me to pay the necessary fee without waiting for my wife to wonder if I had left her.
After taking the eye test, which includes reciting letters and identifying colors (I hate to say this but the colors were far more difficult………not because I couldn’t see them, I just haven’t been quizzed regarding my color I.Q. for quite sometime. Nervously, I answered, “Mauve” to one of the colors. After being questioned, I resorted to the boring colors of green, red and blue. Eventually, I passed.
The recitation of letters was easy for me because I stare at a computer and write letters 12 hours a day. Not letters to my family or friends, just random letters because I knew one day I would have to renew my license.
Ultimately, the reason I did not leave with rage was because I felt dreadfully sorry for the Asian taking the eye test prior to me. He was standing before me and the mugshot picture lady, or affectionately referred to as “picture bitch” while attempting to pass the eye test. Let me preface this by stating Asians and the elderly, no matter how fossilized, are stereotypically considered unsafe and unstable when behind a wheel, bicycle, wagon or conversation. My refusal to accept this racial profile is only recognized when the two fuse together much like oil and saki. It just doesn’t work. This poor elderly Asian was capable of identifying the colors, but he could not identify the letters presented on the Disney Multi Color and Letter Opti View. Twelve or Twelve thousand minutes went by while listening to this gentle man try to justify his case in a language the receptionist simply, as well as any others in the DMV room, could not decipher. The only sentences I was capable of discerning were after the DMV Princess asked, “Why weren’t you able to read the letters when you could identify the colors?” His response, with an interpreter, “The letters were just too damn small”.
After successfully receiving my mugshot and license, I knew this man had no way of getting home. Therefore, I offered him a ride. Since he couldn’t see me, he respectfully declined. I then left and didn’t allow two cars to merge into my lane, thus displaying my own layer of rage.
Britt and I had a nice dinner.
For some, a nice ending