Tuesday, July 31, 2012

The Right of Way

Would you believe that I had the most pleasant trip to the DMV yesterday? 

I know, doesn't seem possible.  Consider this.  The last time I drove 120 miles to my nearest DMV to renew my drivers license, the bottom half of my photo ID looked like this:

That expression is the result of drawing number 538 and waiting four hours to be called with your three year old child in tow.  Then right before they call your number someone tries to butt in front of you in line because the DMV is busy, as if you wouldn't mind.  The top of the photo has been edited out because my brain had exploded out of my ears at that point.  And I had to pee.  Bad. 

This time around, when we drove our eighteen year old manchild to the DMV to get a drivers permit, we remembered we could travel 120 miles in another direction and do business at the less busy, and therefore less hostile, DMV. 

Our number?  2. 

Which is not a bathroom reference.  We were the second patrons to walk into the DMV at that point.

Two!  Queue of two!  At the D.Motherlovin'V!  Two bwahahahahaha!

Not only that, but when they called out our number, I let the man that had walked in while we were filling out paperwork go before us.  Number Three sat down, pants drooping down his backside, and vertical smiled his way through his stolen license plates. 

Who had stolen his underwear is anyone's guess and not really the DMV's business, yet, even looking at that was pleasant considering.  I let someone in line before me at the DMV and it was NICE dammit.

The manchild managed to pass his written test and now he's allowed to get behind the wheel as a student driver.  Unfortunately I have to renew my license by mail this year so my reliving the DMV dream won't happen for another four years.  Sigh.  Shame.

Maybe when I do have to go back I'll go without underpants myself. 

Then we'll take a picture of that expression.

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