Deep in the heart of Redding, past the cozy Starbucks villas, and the trendy clothing stores, lies a black hole of existance where all the creepy weirdos, homeless beggers, and rednecks stake their claim. It's called... the DMV. And it is where I, unfortunately, found myself all afternoon.
The day was starting out fairly decent. I had my paperwork in-hand, my baby in his carseat happilly playing, and a ticket that was only a few numbers shy of being called. I raced through all the documents I had to sign (while rocking and feeding the baby I might add) and was optomistic about my trip. This isn't so bad, I thought, I'll knock this out in a second. And that's when trouble started.
It was just as I was thinking those historic words that Edna, a schizophrenic 47-year-old wearing a cowboy hat, sat down next to me. At first she sat quietly, be it ever-so-nervously, beside me. Her bated breath smelling of tobacco and menthol. I remained calm, and kept my eyes fixed on the paperwork I had long since finished. I didn't dare make eye contact, in fear of being sucked into a very regretable conversation. So, Edna set her sights on the lady to her left. Innocently enough she began chatting with her about her place in line and how awful the lines were at the DMV. Then the lady's son came in and grappled with her about signing a voter's registration card. "Who cares, my vote doesn't count for anything." That's what set Edna off.
She stood up and said, "Now young man, your right to vote is your right, that's what I said, your right. You should vote because we are all warrior poets like Billy-the-kid and superman and that's what we do." She rattled on like this for more than 3 minutes. And if I could remember the rest of it, trust me, I would assuredly have written it. At the end of her rampage, the boy walked off in disgust, and one half of the room at the DMV was dead-pan staring at Edna... which is exactly the way she liked it. She apologized to the lady for chastizing her son, but, "Sometimes I just get aggitated at people who don't understand..." and that started her off again. By now, it had been 10 minutes, and I was anxiously looking at the screen to see when my number would be called. Please don't look at me Edna, please don't look at Eli. Was all I could think as I stared down at the floor again. Then, as if she sensed how uncomfortable we all were, she got up and asked if the lady would come out and tell her when her number was called. The lady readily agreed and sent Edna on her way.
After Edna left, there was a dead silence. Then a mother and her daughter asked if those seats were taken and the lady said, "Please, PLEASE sit here, the lady who was sitting here before is CRAZY." And as she looked outside to see where Edna was, her eyes bulged out of her head. The lady turned to me and said, "Edna is eating the flowers out there!"
PEOPLE, THIS WAS BEFORE MY NUMBER WAS EVEN CALLED!
Finally, it was my turn and Elijah by now was getting aggitated. I thought this would be a bit of paperwork and then we would be outta there. But, what is it with DMV employees? I mean, I know they hate their job and it's loud and everything but honestly if you don't like it just find another job, don't take it out on me. They always seem to find just the right way to talk down to you. So as I am sitting there with my 900 documents, and rocking my now whiny six-month-old I get sarcastic Suzie with her sharp remarks and glaring demeanor. She is now aggitated that my son is fussy, and that I have managed to overlook ONE thing that I was supposed to sign on the 29 pages of things I am supposed to sign. Finally, she finishes her part of the job, and sends me to another ridiculously long line to get, what I thought, was my driver's license.
Okay, it has now been an hour and a half and it is like 90 degrees in there, with hundreds of people. Elijah is more than a little upset so I take him out and bounce him on my hip- still screaming. I get to the counter and the lady offers to hold my baby while I get my picture taken (yeah right, like some lady I don't know is going to hold my kid). So I put him in his carseat, beat-red and mad as heck, and I pose for my mugshot. It's then that the lady informs me I have to take a written test. What??!??!?? Do you not see I have a screaming baby?
So..... I sit screaming Elijah on my lap and with my right hand attempt to take my test. While I am doing so, add the 14 other people taking their tests who are now furious at me because I can't shut my kid up. I can't think, I can't breathe and it's so hot in there I think I'm gonna pass out. Finally I finish (albeit hurredly) and stand in ANOTHER line to get the test checked. Ofcourse, once I get to the front of the line I have failed and have to take it again. Seriously guys, you try taking a test with someone screaming in your ear and let's see how you do. Finally, out of sheer desperation, I plead to have mercy on me and let me come back another day.
So Monday, I get to do the whole nightmarish thing over AGAIN.
To be continued.....
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