Totally Improbable Events – A Pleasant Trip to the DMV

While my wife was away on her recent business trip, the task of taking our daughter to the Department of Motor Vehicles, or simply the DMV, so she could get her learners permit fell to me. After much discussion between my daughter and myself, it was decided that we would make the attempt on a late Tuesday afternoon. The day of the week and time said to be its least crowded. Given this was the DMV, places that I'm sure serve as gateways to Hell, I wasn't optimistic in the least.

Yes, you might be able to imagine the utter exhilarating thrill that coursed up and down my spine that Tuesday as I picked her up from school. For those with a sarcasm detection handicap that last sentence was soaked with it. Be that as it may, I was quite surprised as we pulled into the DMV parking lot to discover it was remarkably empty, relatively speaking. Once inside the building, I was further surprised to discover that instead being struck with claustrophobia from it being packed with disgruntled and loud suburbanites, it was so quiet and empty I could actually hear the soft music being played over the sound system mounted in the ceiling.

Now I'm not sure how other states and even other countries organize their versions of the DMV. But here in South Carolina some bright boy or girl came up with the idea a few years back of having a receptionist at the entrance to help maneuver the customers in the proper direction. Feeling old now, but I remember back in the 1980's of having to immediately stand in line for an extended period of time after entering the DMV only to be given a form, told to fill it out, then stand in line again. God help the poor soul who screwed up their form somehow or was even given the wrong one at the beginning.

The glorious DMV receptionist now ascertains what the customer needs, gives them the proper form along with a numbered ticket, and directs them to one of the seriously uncomfortable chairs. Yeah, while somethings have improved, those chairs are probably surplus from the Spanish Inquisition or some other horrific period in history. Truthfully, don't hate me when I write that since South Carolina isn't know for innovation or making things more comfortable, except for rich white folks, with the adoption of the DMV receptionist we've probably exhausted our supply of good ideas for a couple of decades.

While the DMV wasn't crowded, my daughter and I did have to stand in line for about five minutes as the receptionist dwelt with two people ahead of us. Getting back to the idea that such places are actually gateways to Hell, it was crystal clear the receptionist was completely disgusted with humanity in general. A middle aged African-American lady, as the next person stepped up to her desk, a slightly raised podium actually, she would wait for them to state the nature of their visit. From there, she would silently stare at them for about two or three seconds with a detached look the same way a biologist might a new strain of slime or fungus. A callous thought you might be thinking? Well since at this DMV office we're talking about most of the customers being middle class suburban white folks with a huge pretentious streak and massive sense of entitlement, I felt the same way.

Now to be fair, the receptionist lady looked at me the same way when it was my turn in front of her. Even worse, once I stated that it was my daughter's intention to get her learners permit she asked me if I had her birth certificate and social security card. Quite simply, no, in what had to be one of my biggest brain farts in recent memory, given how obvious those papers would be needed, I had totally not thought to bring them. The look on the receptionist's face was on of utter disdain and I left the DMV that day totally shamed. Given the lateness of the day it wasn't possible to run home, get the documents, and return before it closed. I had to live with my shame until Thursday, when school related circumstances allowed us to return for a second try. Plus, it was my hope that by that time the receptionist would have forgotten about me.

When Thursday afternoon arrived, I picked my daughter up from school and drove back down to the DMV. Yes, I pulled the required documents out of the family filing cabinet and had them ready. Of course my concern that day was the possible crowd we would encounter on our second trip to get her learners permit. I figured that the bureaucratic gods would smite me for my horrendous mistake the previous Tuesday and have the DMV overflowing with the very subspecies of humans both the receptionist and I strongly dislike.

Much to my enjoyment and surprise, the DMV was even less crowded that day. So much that my daughter and I went straight to the receptionist's desk and got the required forms to fill out. In case your wondering, yes, it was the same lady and it was clear from her sardonic facial expression she remembered me from the previous attempt.

The forms I had to fill out for my daughter were fairly innocuous in that I didn't have to overtax the few operational brain cells I had working at that moment. My shift the previous night was a pain and I hadn't slept well that day so my normal intellectual deficit was made worse by the lack of my usual afternoon caffeine intake. So I was more than momentarily taken back when a soft voice caught my attention as I filled out those forms.

“Sir,” the soft voice said, “I believe your number was called.”

I might be beating a dead horse over the idea that all DMV's are gateways to hell, but I was immediately conflicted with the wording of that statement verses the almost angelic nature of the voice. When I looked up and saw what was an extremely attractive women sitting at one of three desks occupying an unused corner of the building, I was more than a little puzzled. Trying not to be sexist here, but this lady's looks and young age made her decidedly out of place compared to every other DMV worker who was middle aged and, frankly, seemed the stereotypical low-level bureaucrat forever in the middle of an existential crisis over past career choices.

“Oh okay,” I said having my daughter move to the chair in front of the lady's desk while I stood next her.

Before encountering the attractive DMV worker, I would have said that it was a physical law of nature akin to gravity or evolution that conversations in such places were short and to the point. The conversation that transpired in front of me between my daughter and the lady was almost surreal in its depth and length. Don't misunderstand me, I was in general left out of the loop in their discussion which was about the intrinsic boring nature or high school, boys, and whether or not they ever matured. Which was something the attractive DMV lady told my daughter was an open question even for someone her age. I couldn't not notice the wistful way the DMV lady said that last part.

No, I don't harbor any illusions that the DMV lady's friendliness was in actuality for my benefit. She was just one of those oddities, a pleasant one, people encounter in situations that would normally be quiet different. Now, don't ask me about the fantasies running around in my head during that time had I been fifteen to twenty years younger, maybe three to four times better looking, and yes, unmarried.

Eventually my daughter's time at the computer which gives the learners permit test came up. While she was in that small room taking the test, I found a chair in the waiting area and tried to not to stare at the lovely DMV lady across the room.

By the time my daughter was done with the test and was in line to have her picture taken I was wondering when everything would go wrong. Like the fictional Mordor, you simply do not walk into the DMV and expect things to proceed easily and quickly. I was half expecting the fire alarm to go off or have some other incident occur that would force us to come back another day and start everything all over again.

Despite my grim certainty that the shit would certainly hit the fan before we could leave, my daughter soon had her crisp new learners permit in her hand. Never one wanting to tempt fate, I got both of us out of their before the bureaucratic gods starting slinging belated lightning bolts my way. By chance as my daughter and I were walking out the door I caught sight of the attractive DMV lady with what looked like a sexy smile on her face waving goodbye to me.

“It's a trap!” I said to myself mimicking the legendary words of Admiral Akbar from the Star Wars movies. Just to play it safe, even though I really need to update my own drivers license to the federally approved version that makes it easy to go on military posts as well as speeding up security processing in airports, I'll just wait.