I am embedded in the Brooklyn DMV right now and moments ago was as close to corporal combustion as I have ever been. My mission is to register a car for Alaina and I and I was also here two days ago with the same goal and was rejected for lacking her signature on one document. It was unclear that her signature was required since there was only space for one signature, but it was a mistake I can live with, costing me only a wasted hour. Intrepidly, I pushed through my frustration and got her signature this morning before returning to Atlantic Center for my date with destiny on the dark side of human emotions. As fate would have it, I drew the same woman who had sent me home the first day and we exchanged familiar pleasantries as she took my completed forms and reviewed them again. Then she says “You’re going to kill her”. Huh? “Her signature is different than the one on the license.” Uh-oh. My world began to melt into a haze of disbelief. “She needs to come in herself”. I am sure that is not true and when I ask to see a supervisor, I am told that not only Alaina’s signature, but mine as well is different and unacceptable. I begin to lose control explaining the absurdity of their argument and am threatened with “trouble” if I continue…
Remember to Breathe!
This segment is being written from the comfy confines of Bonnie’s Grill where I am salivating at the counter watching my reward burger cook listening to The Beatles White Album (Blackbird! Piggies! Rocky Raccoon!) and feeling the great appreciation of life that was seriously lacking one hour ago. The DMV situation was resolved when I persistently pursued the other supervisor, who is apparently a reasonable person, and without more than 5 words spoken, she wrote “OK to process”. Relief overwhelmed me. I had been living in an insane world and suddenly reason returned. After another 30 minutes, I was handed plates and was free to go, mission accomplished.
There is a prevailing mix of hopelessness, frustration and anger at the DMV and I am sad to say I was caught up in it and contributed to the negativity in the room. It is not a job that I envy, and I realize that they must see some ridiculous applications and personalities (I watched someone with no ID whatsoever try to get a driver’s license) but when I feel like the absurdity is on their part and it just comes down to whoever is looking at your papers, my limits are tested. Now that I have the registration and hopefully don’t have to return there until 2015 when my ID expires, I can almost appreciate being ground into emotional mince meat and forced to confront my deepest rage… and giving myself a reason for a delicious Bonnie’s Burger!
That sounds awful. How has Hollywood gone this long without making a shitty comedy that takes place in a DMV? Come on people!
Hi Stephen—your mother again…a typical DMV story…no wonder they have armed guards there these days. I am reminded of one of my favorite stories involving Caitlin and the DMV, which I am sure you have heard more than once. When Caitlin was applying for her learners permit, Dad took her to the DMV (thank goodness, it was not me taking her–I was momentarily spared!) When she presented her social security card and other identification (including birth certificate), they denied her her driving permit because her SS card had left the initial “C” off her first name–it had been typed “Aitlin Elise Taylor”–I had just written in the C, thinking it was just a typo, but 16 years later my mistake (and theirs) came back to haunt us, when they would not let her get her permit!!!! Evidently she freaked out and had a temper tnntrum–hence the armed guards at the DMV now! (again, it was Dad who had to deal with her, and not me)