An Unexpected Date With the DMV

This morning I was trolling the job sites when I came upon one for which I am a fit. The position is an outside sales position so it asked about the validity of my driver's license. It is at this moment that I remember it had expired on June 21. It is August 19, so I am a tad late in the renewal process.

I grabbed my purse and headed for the DMV. Now as far as DMVs go, the Thousand Oaks DMV is pretty nice. It is clean, relatively uncrowded and right next door to a "Coffee Bean". Still, the DMV is a decidedly depressing place to be.

No matter which DMV you enter in the whole of the United States, you walk in and are immediately assaulted with the starkness of a government office. At my DMV, it is even worse for the fact that some well-meaning employees have tried to brighten it up with all that a $3.75 decorating budget will allow. The permanent cork board panels that line the walls have been "spruced up" with corrigated paper boarders and cutout letters from the local "teacher supply store" along with "Don't Drink and Drive" posters - giving the entire place the "wish-you-could-forget" look of a high school principal's office in the 1970's. The unforgiving florescent light bounces off the dingy formica flooring and reflects onto all of our faces making everyone take on the sallow complexion of people who are waiting on a bread line.

I stand in the first of several lines and prepare my little speech. Once I get to the front of the line, they have no interest in my little speech. They hand me a number (G092), a form and point to a stand-up table to fill it out. Once completed, I enter the waiting area and take one of many hard, plastic seats. To wait. For a long time.

I pull out my blackberry, praying for an email to read. No such luck. Further, I have nothing to email anyone about so I put it away. I people watch. What is interesting is that absolutely everyone in there has the look of someone who is either in big trouble or desperate need. No one dresses to go to the DMV. Apparently several don't even brush their hair to go. Everyone looks sloppy. Moms accompanying their 16-year-old "driving hopefuls" up to the window look suspiciously like moms called to school to get their kids out of some kind of trouble. The 16-year-olds stand there silently, with their jaws hanging open as if basic language skills were something they were still trying to master. The rest look like they have been gathered up in a paddy-wagon and hauled in for engaging in some illegal activity. Like cock-fighting or something. Shabby shirts, shabby jeans, shabby shoes. Nothing shabby chic in the place. I look down at my own feet. I am wearing a 5-year-old pair of flip-flops that are comfortable but visibly falling apart with scattered remnants of a 6-week-old pedicure. I need to shave my legs. My white skirt has a coffee stain on the hem from a mishap this morning. I am at one with the landscape.

I wonder at this phenomenon and finally realize that if you took the entire group and transplanted it from the DMV into a park or a mall, a people-watcher would assign every one of us a much better back-story. It isn't the people at all who are strange. It is entirely about the environment. This revelation actually makes me feel a little cheerier about the whole experience and I am able to cast off the "loser cloud" that seemed to attach itself to me as soon as I walked through the door.

My next activity is to watch the digital screen to see when my number is called. I have been sitting for so long in this uncomfortable, un-padded chair that my rear end is numb. I can't wait to be called, but oddly, as they get closer and closer to my number I start feeling the anxiety of waiting for a bomb to go off. What is THAT about? They get to G091 and I almost pee my pants, staring, without blinking at the screen until I think I am going to scream and then it flashes "G092" and I exhale. It is then that I realize that I have been holding my breath and when I stand up, I nearly fall over from the dizziness of having not breathed in way too long. I quickly grab hold of the chair to gain my bearings (lest they think I am drunk) and head up to window 5 where again I begin to give my prepared speech. Again, they don't care to hear it. They take my forms (without looking at me), look me up on their computer screen, tell me I owe them $28.00. I hand them my debit card, get my receipt, and then I get my punishment for not taking care if this on time.

I had received a notice in the mail sometime before my birthday telling me that I could send in my $28.00 and that I didn't need to come to the DMV for a renewal - it would be mailed to me. Keep the same license. No test. Here, I am told that I will be taking a test. I explain to the woman at the window that I had received a letter in the mail telling me I did not need to take a test, I simply had to send in the money. She looked up at me for the very first time since I walked up to the window (are they trained not to acknowledge you?) and gives me a weary look that says: "and you're telling me this story because..." I accept my punishment, submit to the eye test and await instructions. I am told that I need to go to window 18 to have my photo taken. At this point, I nearly start to cry. I know that my pleadings will be lost on this woman so I shuffle like "dead man walking" over to window where I will take my chances with another

overworked government employee who works in a dungeon.

Once there, I smile sweetly and ask if I can go home, put on some make-up and come right back. She has clearly heard this request before. Request denied. I stand in front of the the camera and feel like I am facing a firing squad.

In my 34 years of driving I have never had a driver's license photo without make-up. If you read my blog, you will know that I often leave the house without makeup but I never take a photograph without it. Never. EVER. Now I and every vendor, retailer, or official who ever asks to see my I.D. will have a permanent visual evidence of the unfortunate day I went the Department of Motor Vehicles unprepared. The woman who took my picture hands me the test, points me toward the testing area and by the time I reach it I already have worked out how to get a new photo. I will simply tell them it was inadvertently tossed with junk mail and pay the price to get a new one made. Relief overtakes me and I am prepared to try to remember driving rules. Happily, it is incredibly easy. They have clearly handed me the "give-the-poor-old-lady-a-break-she-just-had-to-take-a-picture-without-makeup" test. Here is an example directly from the test:

You are driving on the highway and your cell phone rings. You

a) let it go to voice mail

b) answer it - it may be important

c) check to see if your voice mail is full before answering it.

See? I got the pity test.

Another line and I hand another woman the test where she grades it (missed one!) prints out a temporary license, tells me when to expect the new one, and hands it to me - all without ever making eye contact. (This must be some sort of internal contest.)

I am officially freed from the experience. I leave, feeling the fullness of life once again. Once home, I get ready to accompany my husband on an errand run. We have several to do as both of us have business to take care of. After we get in the car, I ask what is first on the agenda. We are trying to sell the old Volvo. We need a copy of the pink slip. We're going to the DMV. I kid you not.