DMV. No three letters inspire more fear and dread in the American public than those 3 positioned right next to each other in capital letters. Hearing them spelled out, “D-M-V” and followed by such phrases as “I need to go to the D-M-V today” or “Need to renew my license, better block off a morning for the D-M-V” send anxiety through even the most stoic individuals. Even the words “root canal” or “Chi-Fil-et Drive Thru line” pale in comparison. We’ll put this off like we’ll put off changing our diet and calling back our boss after a booze filled company Christmas Party with an open bar on a friday night.
We’ve been thoroughly conditioned to dread the D-M-V.
Yet you know sometimes when you’re boss is calling you after the holiday party it’s because he isn’t quite sure if he grabbed the new girl in accounting’s ass and if his wife saw it. Or maybe you were pretty damn funny dancing on the table singing “Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash and it was the best rendition he’d ever seen and has a buddy in Vegas that needs someone next weekend. Just saying. It can happen. And sometimes, the DMV really isn’t all that bad.
Today was one of those days.
Let’s back up 6–8 weeks to my last visit to the DMV that I admittedly put off down to the last day that according to Colorado Law you have to register plates for your newly purchased vehicle because yeah….I really didn’t want to sit there in those crappy little chairs for two hours then deal with someone who hates there job, decides they hate you that day, or worse…both. We’ve been there and we all know they know that we know that we are at their fucking mercy and there is no such thing as fucking customer service here boy you’re in the fucking D-M-V so abandon all hope motherfucker I’ve had a bad week and have three screaming kids and an alcoholic boyfriend playing Nintendo 64 at home while doing bong hits between super mario cart races and reruns of Married with Children. And you, you Mr fancy pants with the new to you vehicle I’m soooo ready to take everything out on you because even though i’ve given up all semblance of my humanity and dignity in my personal life and stuck working behind this counter for the next 23 years until I can get my pension, today for however fucking long I feel like it today I own you. You’ll call me Miss and take all my unneccesary questions and the fact it takes me 15 minutes to type your fucking name because my nails are long enough to scope massive amounts of cocaine and hoover it up my nose if I could afford to. You’ll take my condescending tone whether you like it or not or I'll put your ass out in general population for another two hours NEXT Tuesday because fuck it my life sucks and I don’t like you. Get ready motherfucker. Get ready. Abandon all Hope Ye Who Enter bitch.
Now please allow me to apologize to whomever is now experiencing PTSD on the floor of your office, cowering in a corner as the paragraph above just sent you back there to that last time you needed to go to the D-M-V and what they did to you that day. I’m sorry because I know what you’re going through and all I can say is its best to face your anxiety head on and well if that doesn’t help at least move to a state with legal marijuana and develop a solid habit of smoking casually from one hitters while watching Family Guy. Trust me, it works.
So yesterday I handed over a cashiers check in exchange for a new to me truck that to say it had been babied was an understatement. My sweet baby I drove back from Texas last August was destroyed by some moron in a new Subaru Outback (they’re like the mosquitos of the road here in CO…as are those who drive them) who decided to pull his under powered plastic new car in front of a 5000lb truck made of metal on a yellow light. A sad day but what really saddened me was having to go find a new vehicle for the upcoming Colorado winter, get it registered, and all before I make the drive home to Minnesota for the holidays. Dreaded. It. But I thought, maybe, just maybe the previous owner has a few months left on his license plates and I can just kinda sorta skip that step for a month.
Yet while I choose to buy from who I bought from because the guy had a friggin BINDER with all the necessary intel, papers, tire warranty, and such neatly organized and the vehicle’s condition reflected it…he also knew that taking the plates off meant he could probably score a credit at the DMV and well also save some headaches in case I was one of those people who’d drive through tolls with his plates. Either way, it meant I was plateless all togetehr and needed to come up with a plan B….asap. And it meant a trip to the D-M-V.
So first thing I did was roll over to where the ruins of the truck sat and borrowed a philips screwdriver to remove my sweet Pueblo Green Chili plates I had literally just put on maybe a month prior. Maybe. Then last night gathered my necessary materials in the binder, scarified a goat to Odin to bring me luck, and went to bed early so I may be well rested for my morning at the DMV.
I went early in the morning right when they opened and on a Tuesday knowing this was the secret to spending as little time as possible there. I collected my number and sat on a small uncomfortable chair as I watched the screen and waited for my number to be called….and lets’ face it, this is where the terror typically begins. Oh sure, you can look at the screen and see they’re “now serving” 503 and you look down at your number and you have 515 and say to yourself I’m so fucking going to be in/out in no time, but this is where they get ya because you are so fucking fixate on your number you ignore the fact there are other numbers sets that begin with letters and are a whole other classification of patron. You can here P97 and M6021186 and a dozen other numbers get announced in a monotone voice before you even here 504 get called. Much less your number, 515.
Yet today was different. Before I could even get around to checking my email or FB next thing I know 515 is called and off to window 23 I went. Now usually at this stage said unhappy person is sitting there and ready to take a big old bite out of your ass and available free time that day as well as a healthy serving of your dignity along with it. That wasn’t the case, and to say I was caught off guard by the warm, bubbly personality of the young happy lady sitting behind the clear plexiglass window between us would be an understatement. Her cheerfullness contagious. I just handed here everything including my Pueblo Green Chili plate from the last vehicle, told her my story, and she simply replied “That’s terrible, lets see what we can do to make this pain free and get you out of her quickly”.
Huh?? Where am I? I am at the D-M-V right?? Right???
Alas, sure enough I was and I was out of there in under 38 minutes….perhaps a new record for a trip to the DMV for my age group and demographic. I’d like to think I’ll be immortalized on the wall there and that an announcement will sent to be included on the 6th page of the Sunday lifestyle section of the newspaper. But really, the real hero here today is that wonderful young lady who’s name I never got and will never know. So you, unknown D-M-V lady at Counter number 23 today at the Garden of the Gods location….thank you and Merry Xmas.