Take a Seat...



Social Security card: check
Mail addressed to applicant: check
Passport or birth certificate: check

All items in place for Andrew’s trip to the DMV for a permit test.

What did I forget to bring? A pen, patience, a positive attitude and maybe a folding chair.

In the old days, and I'm referring to the permit tests for Scott and David, this involved a trip to the driving school, a clipboard and ten questions. Ok, maybe that was too easy, but this is more complicated than international airport security (if potential terrorists had to clear this labyrinth we would have no air security issues). The state of CT has also decided it only needs 4 offices to handle all the testing in the state (good choice, something tells me that all of the decision makers had long passed the driving test years). We choose the closest and maybe the oldest location, Wethersfield, the place where Fridays-off go to die.

We arrive shortly after 9 a.m., I figure, let’s get there after the people trying to “get in /get out” before work, and save ourselves some time. Bad theory, plenty of folks here in no rush to get to work. I am even hopeful that Hurricane Irene hysteria will force all the crazies to the market in search of bottled water or Home Depot to fight for a generator, wrong again. The 2nd floor public room awaits and the odyssey begins. This process is a mathematical equation; line 3, to line 5 times 3 (divide time spent in each line by 2 (no one comes alone - parent, baby, girlfriend, spouse, guardian, hostage). Then divide that again by the available service windows, and again by how many employees are working, and once again by how many people they take before they go "on break."  There are additional variables for applicants who have the wrong paperwork, too much paperwork (2 forms of ID, 1 piece of mail - choose before you come, not at the counter) or don't speak English.  I am lulled into a false sense of hope as we pass through the line 5 maze faster than expected, 50 minutes isn't so bad. Until I learn that we had just crossed the threshold to hell. "Take a seat and we'll call you for the test," says Satan's messenger.

And here we sit in Americas melting pot. First time ever I wish I carried one of those paper Germaphobe masks; some of these coughs should definitely be hospitalized. Almost as scary, the lady behind us who says she has been here since they opened (7:45 a.m.). Andrew and I are "LF ing" this at the same time (LF is our family code for Listening Factor - a gentler term for eavesdropping), we are simultaneously horrified until she tells her new best friend in the next seat that she came with none of the required paperwork, went home and returned with a "pass" to reclaim her place in line. I say no second chances; stupidity should not be given a "pass." I settle in and try to enjoy the full people watching experience. Not that one needs to dress for the DMV, but is deodorant and toothpaste asking too much? The clothing landscape is the stuff reserved for the worst of "Glamour Don't" offenders. I am surrounded by hot pink thong strings emerging from too-tight acid-washed jeans. These ladies (and I use the term loosely) have way more than a "muffin top," we are talking the whole bakery spilling over. There are hairstyles I have not seen since Dynasty ruled ABC's primetime line up (bangs that totally spent some time in hot rollers this morning), lots of gray-haired studs in pony tails (and just in case I wasn't sure, their t-shirts proclaim how hot, bad-ass, or babe-proficient they are). Short-shorts are not a good idea for anyone at the DMV. First off, these seats are dirty; why would you want that much skin contact. And Second, see above reference to "muffins", point made. Just occurred to me, I left my "filter" at home too, no worries, I'm going to safely assume that none of my seat mates are blogmates.

I think perhaps I got sidetracked by fashion commentary, it happens, back to the story. 1 hour and 25 minutes in the holding tank and he is called to the testing cubicle, almost missed our name being called, lost in the fog of boredom.  On that note, there are flat screens televisions everywhere I look (excellent use of my tax dollars); is there a reason they can't put a name on a screen instead of butchering every single one being called out from all 6 stations? Andrew passes and returns within minutes, but this is not over. Good thing I didn't get up to hug him (besides the fact the he would have killed me), these disease infected chairs are a hot commodity. 20-minute wait before someone ill-pronounces our name again, pay $19 (already paid $40 at the 1st window visit) and wait to be called for a photo (which I am certain they already took in Kiosk 1 in line 3). More waiting, more thongs, add crying babies and someone who had curry for lunch to the party. Called for photo, SMILE!, back to waiting. A new chair neighbor, badly in need of a dentist, asks me how long this takes (he has just entered the pit from line 5), I intentionally crush his spirit and tell him we've been here since 8. Finally, the gates to heaven open and Andrew receives his new, laminated, vertical learner’s permit (more wasted $'s, this will be useless in 6 months or less, paper was good enough). We are out the door in a record-breaking 2 hours and 40 minutes.  Thank you iPad (did you think I would go this alone) and blog for keeping me busy.

Follow up advice for the DMV (pass it on if you know anyone in charge):
Not that I am saying it's a good idea (or politically correct) to separate the “haves” from the “have-nots,” but, How about an "express line”?  Charge me a premium, and get me out in a 1/2 hour or less, budget crisis solved.