A belated account of my trip to the DMV

Okay so the other day when I went to the DMV to get the permit of restricted freedom, it went like this:First, we sat. We had to wait behind the “wall” for about 20 minutes, listening to Nicholas scream and periodically chasing him down the walkway and back again, only to have him fuss the minute you picked him up. And of course when I had to do this all eyes were on me. I felt like I was starring in some hideous tiring circus act. Circus de Nicholas is running.Mom also thought that this whole scene here was the perfect Kodak moment, and decided to take my picture a few times with the random guys sitting behind me. I think they thoroughly enjoyed it. (See Picture)

So, as you can imagine, once my number got called it was an astronomical relief—little did I know it would not get any better, only worse, from here on out—but ignorance is bliss. So we walk up to the counter where you get your picture taken and all your information is recorded, only the guy at the counter was very obviously either suffering from jet lag, or had had a very late night prior to our trip. I’m telling you.

He was so out of it and slow and dazed. It seemed as though every little gesture he made or word he said was equivalent to moving mountains for him. Eventually Mom escaped back to the waiting area to feed M&M's to Nicholas while I took my test. It was pretty easy, I only missed a few. It was the waiting and anticipation that took place after the test that nearly finished me off. I literally sat there waiting for mountain man to call me up again (this time from waiting area “2”) to have me pay and actually give me what I had come to get. But of course no task is an easy one, so I was once again forced to sit and dwell on the fact that this was turning out to be one very ugly operation.Eventually I called Mom over, feeling sorry that she had to deal with Nicholas alone, but her coming over did not help any of us, especially not Nicholas, and the stress level was off the charts. After things calmed down a bit, Mom and I sat down (after actually paying, mind you) and stared at the tile, waiting for the man behind the desk to hand me the card, so we could leave and not look back. Five to ten somewhat painful minutes later, he did call me. And do you know what he said as he peered at me over his unflattering too-big, wire-rimmed glasses? He told me that I was a very patient girl. Oh man did I just want to throttle him. Patient? You think? We had an appointment! And if we had actually, I don’t know, been penciled in at our alleged time, the whole process could have taken maybe half an hour. But no, apparently appointments are a whole other thing.

At the DMV they like to see just how far they can stretch both you and the time they spend with you.All in all: I'm sure it is equally stressful for those who work at the DMV and have to deal with all the frazzled customers, as it is for the customers themselves, and It was a very memorable experience (I'll leave that up to interpretation), and there’s no doubt I’ll be going back.