Putting the SUCK in Soul-Sucking

Today I thought to myself, "how can I combine several of my least favorite activities into one big fat morning-wasting adventure?" First, I had to decide on some of my least favorite things to do, before I could combine them. For this morning's purposes, I chose paperwork, interacting with strangers, and waiting in line. To combine these things, I thought, "I know! I will go to the DMV!!!" However, I was in for a big surprise! It turns out that I actually combined interacting with strangers with paperwork, and waiting in line, and waiting in line, and waiting in line, etc. Let me explain. Where I hail from, the definition of a line is very different than it is here. My first trip to the DMV consisted of 15 people in a room, 2 of which were working, 6 of which (at least) were waiting either to take a driving test, or for their license to be printed up, and at most 7 people in line. I would hear comedians joke about how much the DMV sucked, and I would laugh, but as it turns out, I was like a redneck laughing at Dennis Miller; namely, I did not really get the joke. The neat part about the DMV in the district, or at least the one I had to go to since there is only one place you can get temporary plates, is that the line to get your licence has like 40 parts. By this I mean, first you wait in line in the hall, then you get to a little airlock. Once in the airlock, you can see what you believe to be the end of the line, but when you get to the other side, you see that the line actually goes out along the wall and then doubles back. After you have doubled back, you have to wait for one of three people working at a little kiosk to say "next in line" in the most dreary possible tone of voice. After the three people in front of you go in rapid succession, the following happens: One needs a translator. This will have to be flown in from that person's country of origin, then taught conversational English, and with airline security the way it is, and the current state of our public schools, I don't need to tell you that this takes quite a while. A second person working at the kiosk takes this opportunity to go on a coffee break of some sort. The third is delayed because the person they are helping is asking if there is any way to get your license if you have a Martian birth certificate, no proof of residency, and you are only able to pay in stale froot loops. By the time you do get to go to the kiosk, you have forgotten where you are, and what you are supposed to be doing. After this is all explained to you, you are given a number and told to sit down. As it turns out, your number is preceded by a letter such that then next line can be a complicated WEB of lines, all leading to various counters. After watching divorce court with no sound for 45 minutes (which is actually kind of amusing) you are called to window number 18. You arrive there to find that no one is at window 18, but if you wait long enough, someone shows up because of chaos theory or some crap. You hand them the 8 things they require, which they do not even look at, but which they would also execute you for not having, and you are shooed off to another line where you wait for a lady who does not understand where she is supposed to sign the little piece of plastic, or why the plastic pen has no ink. It is important to note that this woman will also have an infant with her that will not stop screaming "mama" until sometime in her mid-20's. Finally you get your picture taken, your license is given to you and you go to "the terrible land of temporary tags". In here there is a smaller line, but that is deceiving. This is because there are only two employees. One employee is in charge of handling things from some other part of the labyrinth, while occasionally squeezing in a customer, and the other has the sole duty of issuing temporary license plates. She is inept. In the time that the first employee processed 3 requests from the labyrinth, and 4 customers, she had successfully completed ZERO transactions. The only thing that could make this worse is if you forgot your favorite method of portable entertainment, and someone in the very same room had a near-exact replica. It is important to note, that I did go the extra mile in this regard. I cannot WAIT to go back to get my real plates once I get my car inspected.