Nothing is black or white any more. It's all shades of puce.
I know I've made jokes, or comments and observations that I call jokes despite their lack of humor, about Southern California. I've compared it to hell. I've said it's smelly and hot and causes puppies and kittens to explode violently and without warning. Southern California, however, ples in cmparison to the terrors of a place so gorrible that sane people only speak about it in whispers.
The darkest place of all. The
D
M
V
First, a little history about the DMV for those of you who may not know much about it.
The DMV, or Department of Motor Vehicles, came into being upon the passing of Senator F.S. Birdsell's Vehicle Act of 1915. The Vehicle Act of 1915's original title was changed before Congress voted on it, because Birdsell was pretty sure that nobody would read something called "The Vehicle Act of 1915" and that the congressmen were unlikely to pass anything with the original title - Let's Make People Miserable. After it was passed, the D.M.V. was established and grew its soul draining tentacles deep into mearly every city in the country. If you examine the foundation of any D.M.V. building, you will find that it is constructed in a pond of human blood that must be kept full at all times as the D.M.V. has a voracious appetite.
But history is boring, so let's fast forward to my recent experience. The experience actually starts before I got to the D.M.V. It starts with the setup as to why I had to go there in the first place.
Last week, a police car pulled me over and I assumed it was due to my expired registration, and the little tags on my license plate tell everyone that I haven't taken care of something I should have done months ago. The police officer got out of his car and walked up to my window. He asked for my driver's license, my registration and proof of insurance. After a minute of fumbling, I managed to produce my license, proof of my insurance and my expired registration information. The police officer told me that he pulled me over because my registration was expired. I nodded. He asked if I knew that my registration had expired. I nodded. He asked if I knew that my driver's license had expired at the end of October. I did not nod.
He let me off with a warning, telling me to get everything taken care of. I didn't drive at all for fear my license would be revoked by a less nice cop. Today, I went to the D.M.V. to renew my license.
In my past experiences, there were lines. Many lines. A person would enter through the front doors and be confronted with a long line. The person would wait in the line until the line ended at a counter with a clerk. The clerk would ask what the person needed, and tell the person that they needed to go to the next line. The person would wait in the next line and eventually be confronted with another clerk ho would give the person forms. The person would fill out the forms and wait in a third line to see a third clerk. The clerk would process tha papers, and the person would have to wait in a fourth line to see a fourth clerk who would give the person the results of the processed forms. The process would take roughly three days to complete. A select few individuals brought in cots, but most people didn't because someone would always cut in line while they were sleeping.
This time was different. There was one line to start with. It was short. I only waited five minutes before I saw a clerk. He asked what I needed, then handed me a form and a ticket with G069 on it. I thought things were going well. Only one line and I already had my forms! When I turned away from the counter Inoticed that there were no other lines. There were about twenty people waiting in chairs. I filled out my forms, then sat in one of the many vacant chairs. "No problem," I thought to myself. "I should be out of here in no time. Surely, this is a kinder, gentler D.M.V." As I waited, numbers were being announced every minute or so by a friendly synthesized womanly voice. "Now helping G060 at window 8." That sort of thing. Surely, I was only 9 people away from getting everything taken care of.
It went downhill from there. Tivkets were being called seemingly at random, and none of them even started with the letter G. Despite the fact that about one ticket was called per minute, only one chair was vacated every twenty minutes. I'm pretty sure that most of the tickets the called didn't exist and were only announced to give people hope that things might be moving along while their souls were being infected with evil D.M.V. vibes (I was immune since the mummy took my soul a few months back - see previous entries for details). The people that got up probably just left out of frustration, or they somehow realized that their number would never be called. Ever.
After a few hours, I went out to my car and got a bottle of white-out and a blue pen. I went back inside and waited for a few tickets to be called. I picked one of them, whited out the numbers on my own ticket, wrote in the new ones and walked up to the clerk who seemed very surprised. I had a ticket though (which she ultimately threw out), so there was nothing she could do but help me. I triumphantly handed her my completed DL44 form and my expired license, and waited for her to review them. She told me that my license odesn't expire until 2006.
I am now convinced that the California Highway Patrol is trying to trick people into going to the D.M.V. Once there, they have to wait so long that they either starve to death, or end up in a catatonic state from the D.M.V. vibes, and are drained of their blood in order to feed the buildings. Quite an ingenious plan, but I was too clever for it.
Take THAT, The System!
The darkest place of all. The
D
M
V
First, a little history about the DMV for those of you who may not know much about it.
The DMV, or Department of Motor Vehicles, came into being upon the passing of Senator F.S. Birdsell's Vehicle Act of 1915. The Vehicle Act of 1915's original title was changed before Congress voted on it, because Birdsell was pretty sure that nobody would read something called "The Vehicle Act of 1915" and that the congressmen were unlikely to pass anything with the original title - Let's Make People Miserable. After it was passed, the D.M.V. was established and grew its soul draining tentacles deep into mearly every city in the country. If you examine the foundation of any D.M.V. building, you will find that it is constructed in a pond of human blood that must be kept full at all times as the D.M.V. has a voracious appetite.
But history is boring, so let's fast forward to my recent experience. The experience actually starts before I got to the D.M.V. It starts with the setup as to why I had to go there in the first place.
Last week, a police car pulled me over and I assumed it was due to my expired registration, and the little tags on my license plate tell everyone that I haven't taken care of something I should have done months ago. The police officer got out of his car and walked up to my window. He asked for my driver's license, my registration and proof of insurance. After a minute of fumbling, I managed to produce my license, proof of my insurance and my expired registration information. The police officer told me that he pulled me over because my registration was expired. I nodded. He asked if I knew that my registration had expired. I nodded. He asked if I knew that my driver's license had expired at the end of October. I did not nod.
He let me off with a warning, telling me to get everything taken care of. I didn't drive at all for fear my license would be revoked by a less nice cop. Today, I went to the D.M.V. to renew my license.
In my past experiences, there were lines. Many lines. A person would enter through the front doors and be confronted with a long line. The person would wait in the line until the line ended at a counter with a clerk. The clerk would ask what the person needed, and tell the person that they needed to go to the next line. The person would wait in the next line and eventually be confronted with another clerk ho would give the person forms. The person would fill out the forms and wait in a third line to see a third clerk. The clerk would process tha papers, and the person would have to wait in a fourth line to see a fourth clerk who would give the person the results of the processed forms. The process would take roughly three days to complete. A select few individuals brought in cots, but most people didn't because someone would always cut in line while they were sleeping.
This time was different. There was one line to start with. It was short. I only waited five minutes before I saw a clerk. He asked what I needed, then handed me a form and a ticket with G069 on it. I thought things were going well. Only one line and I already had my forms! When I turned away from the counter Inoticed that there were no other lines. There were about twenty people waiting in chairs. I filled out my forms, then sat in one of the many vacant chairs. "No problem," I thought to myself. "I should be out of here in no time. Surely, this is a kinder, gentler D.M.V." As I waited, numbers were being announced every minute or so by a friendly synthesized womanly voice. "Now helping G060 at window 8." That sort of thing. Surely, I was only 9 people away from getting everything taken care of.
It went downhill from there. Tivkets were being called seemingly at random, and none of them even started with the letter G. Despite the fact that about one ticket was called per minute, only one chair was vacated every twenty minutes. I'm pretty sure that most of the tickets the called didn't exist and were only announced to give people hope that things might be moving along while their souls were being infected with evil D.M.V. vibes (I was immune since the mummy took my soul a few months back - see previous entries for details). The people that got up probably just left out of frustration, or they somehow realized that their number would never be called. Ever.
After a few hours, I went out to my car and got a bottle of white-out and a blue pen. I went back inside and waited for a few tickets to be called. I picked one of them, whited out the numbers on my own ticket, wrote in the new ones and walked up to the clerk who seemed very surprised. I had a ticket though (which she ultimately threw out), so there was nothing she could do but help me. I triumphantly handed her my completed DL44 form and my expired license, and waited for her to review them. She told me that my license odesn't expire until 2006.
I am now convinced that the California Highway Patrol is trying to trick people into going to the D.M.V. Once there, they have to wait so long that they either starve to death, or end up in a catatonic state from the D.M.V. vibes, and are drained of their blood in order to feed the buildings. Quite an ingenious plan, but I was too clever for it.
Take THAT, The System!