DMV

I wonder if there is any state in which the DMV (Dept of Motor Vehicles) is considered a paragon of efficiency and courtesy. The DMV in California is famous for the effort required to utilize its services, which are essential for anyone desiring to operate a motor vehicle in this state. I just had my once every five years opportunity to enjoy this service.

The truth is: it wasn’t too bad. I was told that it really doesn’t save much time to get an advance appointment. So I just showed up, navigated the system and in less than 2 hours was on my way home set for five more years, pondering if at age 88 (five years from now) I will be around to get another five year extension.

While waiting for my number to be called I decided to take a good look at my fellow seekers. Here is what I saw: The room was full of people of all ages. Just to my left an infant only a few weeks old was nursing at its very young mother’s breast. The mother was completely unselfconscious and was obviously just doing what comes naturally with no attempt at what someone else might call modesty. . The mother had simply pulled down her blouse, fully exposing herself and invited the child to get nourished.

At the other end of the age spectrum I watched with some trepidation as a gentleman (obviously older than I) tried with difficulty to navigate the system. His solicitous wife told him when his number was called, stood next to him as he gave personal info, wrote out the payment check, escorted him to the photo department, literally ed him by the arm to the written examination section, stepped back when asked to do so by an attendant and then waited while he (apparently) met all necessary requirements to drive the streets and freeways of this state for another five years. I tried not to shiver in anticipation.

I tried to assess the percentages of the various ethnic languages, skin color, native country groups. Didn’t find many who shared my Germanic background, but saw many of Hispanic origin, surprisingly few blacks, only one who seemed Arabic, Chinese, Indian, and either Korean or Japanese.
I soon observed that people do not dress up to go to the DMV. I saw not even one woman in a dress. The one gentleman wearing a tie seemed to be a supervising employee. Footwear ranged from heavy-duty work boots to flip flops, to furry high-tops, to sandals to high-heeled shoes that seemed very fancy under well-worn jeans.

Activities to take up time while waiting for one’s number to be called were as varied as the clothes. Some were obviously doing school homework. One read a mystery. Dozens were on cell phones, pods, blackberries et sim. One gentleman was engaged in conversation loud enough for us all to hear whether we were interested or not. I got interested and learned that he was disappointed that a bit of the tattoo ink which seemed to cover all available body parts was beginning to fade in places. He was a committed lover of women with no intention for matrimony. This was a pretty good day to be at the DMV as the surf wasn’t very high this morning anyway.

Meanwhile my sub-conscious was creating its own scenarios. Maybe my mind really was slipping and I would fail the written test, forgetting those numbers for unacceptable alcohol blood levels, or how may days in which to report a change of address, sale of car, or to report an accident when the driver of the other car isn’t around…and how many feet does it take for a car to stop if it is traveling 55 miles an hour. Then I wondered if my new glasses would really enable me to read Line 4. Naturally it all went as smooth as the gentlest skid on ice. The first representative used to deliver the newspaper to where I now live, the photographer had personal comments, and the test giver recommended I post my 100% test results on my refrigerator. And I was on my way home with all due and proper permission to navigate the lanes, streets and freeways of California for another five years with the full permission of the California DMV.