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Last April I had to go to the DMV to get my driver’s license renewed.  I wrote an article for darnfunnyonline.com at the time, chronically that nightmare.  In January I moved to California and once again I had to go to the DMV, this time in California.  The DMV is never fun but California’s DMV makes Nevada’s look like Paradise.  Besides, no one should have to go to the DMV more than once in less than a year. That should be classified as cruel and unusual punishment.

My day started off trying to find a parking space in a lot that is about one quarter of the size it should be.  Luckily, the parking space fairy was on my side that day because I only had to cruise around for about five minutes before I was able to beat another driver to a spot.  He was a good sport about it though because he gave me a hearty wave as he drove away.  Although, I think he must have hurt his hand earlier because his middle finger was sticking out as he waved.  I felt sorry for him and gave a nice wave back.

Next, I had to deal with an unusual (euphemism for psycho) security guard.  I wasn’t sure I was at the right place so I walked over to his side and asked him if I was.  He stared straight ahead and answered in a strange psycho-like monotone voice, “Do you think you’re in the right place?”

I looked around to see if he was talking to someone other than me.  Satisfied there was no one else (he actually could have been talking to an invisible guy now that I think of it) I said, “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.”

Then he said curtly, “Ask one of them,” pointing to other customers.

Exasperated I replied, “They don’t work here they are customers like me.”

Then as he slowly turned his head and glared at me (at least he finally looked at me) I knew this was a good time to leave.  After all, he had a gun.  So I slowly backed away until I felt it was safe to run, which I did.

After standing in several more lines I finally got to the point where they took my picture for my driver’s license.  When I got to see the picture I was positive I had been trapped in a time warp and I was now 80 years old.  I don’t know how they do it but I’m pretty sure they have a way of gathering up all of the wrinkles, age spots and other disfiguring marks on a face that have been photos shopped out of pictures and put them into the DMV camera that then go onto the driver’s license pictures.

Next, much to my surprise I had to take a written driver’s test.  They don’t make new people to Nevada do that.  There the driving laws are whatever you can get away with.  Anyway, after answering questions like, “If there is a double yellow line in the middle of the road and orange cones on the side of the road and the traffic light just turned red how much to you have to pay to bribe the cop to not give you a speeding ticket.”  I passed the test.  You are allowed to miss 6 questions and that’s what I did so grading on a curve I had a perfect score.

Finally, I had only one more obstacle before I could finish my day in hell.  I had to get my car a smog test.  Not surprisingly, it costs twice as much for a smog test in California than it does in Nevada.  That’s a concept I’m getting used to quickly.

At last I was done.  I’m guessing this whole ordeal was some weird sort of initiation test to see if they’ll let me stay in California.  I apparently passed because they let me have a license.  Now I just have to find out how much to bribe the cop because I missed that question on the test.

darnfunnyonline.com

I was already having a tough week and then it was capped off with a near death experience, or at least one that made me almost want to kill myself – going to the DMV to get my license renewed.

Now I really have an understanding of why people always look so bad on their driver’s license pictures after having to endure the torture chamber that is the DMV.

First, I had to wait in a line just to get in the building which meant standing in the hot Las Vegas sun.  That would account for the radiating glow on my face in the picture.  Or maybe I should, more accurately, call it a radiation glow from the sun.

What made the wait in the line even more intimidating was the fact that I saw people going into the building, since the line did move, even if at a snail’s pace, but I hardly saw anyone coming out.  It made me wonder what was happening in there.  I figured there was some kind of government conspiracy going on where they drug and hypnotize you and tell you won’t remember this.  Then they tell you taxes are good, Obamacare is good, Cap and trade is good.  Hmm…now that I think of it, I don’t remember any of that happening so maybe it was just the drugs and hypnosis working.  But, luckily, if that did happen it didn’t work well because I think those ideas are more stupid than ever…Again, hmm…very interesting.

Once you do get into the building you are herded like cattle to numerous lines and made to fill out various forms in triplicate, etc.  I’m not sure where the drugs and hypnotism came in but that just validates the theory because they tell you won’t remember.

Up until a few days before I went they were making you show your birth certificate and two forms of ID that show your residence so the federal government can better keep track of you.  Luckily that is not now being required, at least for the time being.  I asked a lady there why they stopped doing that.  She told me in a very cryptic voice, “We decided we don’t need it.  We already know how to find you.”

After my stomach stopped churning from that comment I got to sit and wait, which was only a slight improvement from standing and waiting.  Fortunately, I had the foresight to pack a lunch and bring a pillow.  They didn’t really mind that because it kept me from complaining but what they frowned upon was when I wanted to change into a fresh set of clothing after my nap.  That brought a visit from the security guards.

The ultimate insult is at the end of this entire day–killing incident is that you have to pay them to get your license and complete the torture.  That’s like changing your baby’s diapers and you know they are just going to crap in them again anyway.  Okay, not the best analogy, but the crap part rings true here.

I must say it was quite a relief to know I won’t have to go back there for another eight years, at which time I will need to get a new picture taken for my license.  That is unless they tell me to come back in 4 years because the drugs and hypnotism have worn off too soon.  Not that I remember it…hmm.

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