The Department of Motor Vehicles is surely a spawn of Satan
I hate the DMV. I hate the roped walkways. I hate the overabundance of eye charts. I hate the gray linoleum. I hate the lines. I hate the deposits of undereducated people that seem to gather there. I hate the blue eye shadow that the lady behind the counter was wearing. I hate the gold teeth that glittered in the florescent light every time the guy behind me yawned. I hate my signature on every single piece of paper they hand me. I hate appointments. I hate men in flannel shirts who look like Mrs. Simas from the back. I hate the word register. I hate pens attached to desks with spiral-y cords that are to short.
Why do they even rope their pens down? Are they special magic pens? If they really cared about their pens, you’d think they’d sterilize them after so many grubby hands touch them…. But that is a completely different rant.
I hate filling out forms… with that many forms, you might as well be selling your soul to the devil.
I hate applications, there’s more information on the DMV applications than college applications, I’m surprised you don’t have to write a personal statement.
I hate the lack of chairs. I hate that I spell both my first and last name different than they are legally spelled. I hate procedures. I hate being called “honey”…by rude old women that are obviously suffering from hemorrhoids or menopause. . or both. I hate strangers with B.O.
This hatred runs deep, but the worse part? The DMV hates me back.
p.s. they wouldn’t let me take my test………….again! Correct paperwork can kiss my ass.
Why do they even rope their pens down? Are they special magic pens? If they really cared about their pens, you’d think they’d sterilize them after so many grubby hands touch them…. But that is a completely different rant.
I hate filling out forms… with that many forms, you might as well be selling your soul to the devil.
I hate applications, there’s more information on the DMV applications than college applications, I’m surprised you don’t have to write a personal statement.
I hate the lack of chairs. I hate that I spell both my first and last name different than they are legally spelled. I hate procedures. I hate being called “honey”…by rude old women that are obviously suffering from hemorrhoids or menopause. . or both. I hate strangers with B.O.
This hatred runs deep, but the worse part? The DMV hates me back.
p.s. they wouldn’t let me take my test………….again! Correct paperwork can kiss my ass.