Our highways are great. I think the jughandle is a glorious way to make a left turn. It's sheer bliss that we don't have to pump our own gas. I even think our state smells good!
You know what driving stereotype I DO believe?
The DMV is the worst.
YOU. ARE. THE. WORST.
When you sent me a letter telling me my license was expiring, I cringed. You told me I could renew by mail and save time. But you know what? I hate my photo. It's terrible. I blame you!
So, my vanity overruled my logic and I decided to come in for a visit.
Mistake.
The only time I've ever been psyched to be at the DMV was on my bday was when I turned 17 and got my first license. In fact, it was at the very same DMV I visited today. The place was old 30 years ago.
Now, it's a complete shithole. (See above.)
A trip to the DMV is like a day in purgatory. The one in Wayne is literally falling apart. Even the signs that say "pardon our appearance" are peeling off. (The jig is up - no one believes something new is coming soon.) Everyone stands in line for HOURS. Are chairs so expensive? There is ZERO air in the dead of summer. Would a fan kill you?
Oh, and all your employees are like hostile zombies. Even the woman emptying the trash wore a tshirt that said "enemies" across the front.
So, morale is obviously an issue.
You know what else is an issue? EFFICIENCY!
I actually had to visit you TWO times and spend almost FIVE hours of my life to get a valid, in-state license renewed. Shocked? Me neither.
Last Saturday, I arrived at 1pm and stood in a line under fluorescent lights in a steamy side room for two loooong hours until you closed. A smiling man in a yellow shirt eventually turned us away and cheerfully said to come back on Monday.
I bet he gets punched a lot.
Do you think if I could come on a Monday, I'd waste my Saturday with YOU?
No.
Today, I came back because I am obviously insane. I arrived at 11am -- FOUR hours before closing. This time, we stood in a line OUTSIDE, baking in the sun. I didn't think to bring my sunscreen to the DMV, but no doubt the SPF would have washed away in a river of my sweat.
At noon, an officer told us that they might have accepted all the people they could see for the day.
Please note: It was still THREE hours until closing.
Ummm... what country are we in? What century is this?? What. The. Eff.
Please know, I speak not only for myself, but for the people I stood on line with. Twice. Inside and outside your flawed facility, my neighbors were very vocal as we experienced the 5 stages of grief together:
DENIAL
"This shit costs how much?"
"I'm not even supposed to be here. I'm going to Bloomingdales."
ANGER
"Bitch, we're not moving"
"I'm about to say fuck it & drive illegally."
BARGAINING
"You want to sit in the car? No. If I have to suffer, so do you."
"I owe you. We're hitting up Sonic after this. Get some tots and a Coney!"
DEPRESSION
"I wish I would have never lost my license."
"This line is mad long. I'm about to die."
ACCEPTANCE
"There is no amount of deodorant that can keep me from stinking right now."
"This is the greatest day of my life!"
(That last kid was getting his first license and a convertible BMW. He doesn't count.)
In a miraculous twist, they let more of us inside. When I finally sloshed up to the counter -- nearly three hours later -- I noticed the woman who processed my paperwork was wearing a sweater.
"The break room is so cold," she said.
Right then, my head exploded, which was unfortunate because I was about to take a pic.
You take BREAKS when a hundred people are standing in the sun? And you CRANK the air conditioning in the break room while every other area is a sauna? And your staff is STILL miserable?
I can't.
After all that nonsense, I did get my license. When she handed it to me, she said, "Pretty."
Don't you try to sweet talk me. Get it together, DMV!
You are awful.
Jen
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