I got up an hour early today to go to the DMV as soon as it opened. I got there at 8:15 (it opens at 8:30) and there were already about 20 people lined up at the door! It was OK, though, the line moves pretty fast at that hour. Besides, there are 4 different floors of DMV activity, so everyone split up. I discovered why last week I waited for 2 hours in the waiting room and the letter my ticket was for (B407) wasn’t even called (they only called A’s and F’s and the occasional D)… I was waiting on the wrong floor! All the B’s and C’s are serviced on the second floor! I’m glad the ticket giver-outer lady told me about that this time!
Thus I journeyed up to the second floor, which with its harsh flourescent lighting, grey-streaked linoleum tile floor and wooden benches looks pretty much exactly like the downstairs waiting room. I only had to wait 6 numbers before I was called, and in the mean time an ancient (OK, she was born in 1930, but she looked about 100) Chinese lady came and sat down next to me. She came up to about my chest in height, and probably weighed about the same as Mikala. She spoke pretty much no English; she showed me her expired temporary ID paper and twittered on in Chinese. I tried to explain the form she was holding, but she didn’t understand. I offered her a pen, but she declined, instead handing me her ID and the form. Apparently, I was to fill out the information for her.
From the ID paper (I have no idea where her permanent ID was; she just had this temporary one which had expired in 2005) I was able to get enough info to fill out most of the form– name (HER NAME WAS DICK WANG!!!!!! SERIOUSLY! AN OLD LADY NAMED DICK!!), address, her SS# was also her ID number since she had an old skool ID from before they stopped doing that. However, I tried in vain to ask if she was taking any medication or had any medical conditions that would hinder her ability to drive a car… but decided that even if she did, it wouldn’t matter, since she was just getting an ID and not a driver’s license. I had to ask if she was a U.S. Citizen, because that’s another box you have to check, and her reply was “B. O. S. T. O. N. M. A.” as she pointed to the letters after her address. I left that one blank. I didn’t even bother asking about whether or not she wanted to be an organ donor or to register to vote, and I hoped that she didn’t have a suspended license in another state.
In the end, I told her to sign, and pointed to her name and the blank on the form, and she printed, very neatly and slowly in block letters, “D I C K W A N G.” When I tried to explain that she had to fill in the date line, too, she told me her apartment number, so I showed her my form where I had filled it in. She copied the numbers 2/26/08 in the same slow, careful writing, pausing awkwardly at the slashes between the month and date and year. I think in the end she decided that they were 1’s, because she wrote straight up and down lines.
What is it about me that makes everyone seek me out for help? People always stop me on the street for directions, calling me “honey” and “sweetie” before I’ve barely gotten a word out (mostly middle-aged women, too!) I have partially pink hair! I look MENACING, dammit! Argh. People would probably find Noam Chomsky a lot more of a scary threat in the DMV than me. Next to me, Ralph Nader probably looks like Darth Vader. Darth Nader. I used that as a log in name somewhere, but I can’t remember where…
Anyway, I finally got through the 6 people and went up to the window, fully filled-in form in hand. The DMV lady punched something into the computer and said, “your licence is suspended. You can’t do that here until you pay a citation downstairs.” CITATION? What citation? I swear that I paid that ticket I got last summer. OK, apparently not, because after getting in line downstairs to talk to the citation-payer lady, I discovered the $50 ticket is now up to $203, including late fees, administrative fees, processing fees, and some random $10 surcharge. I had 200-something in my bank account last time I checked, so I figured I’d just pay it and be done with it. If I sent it through as “credit” instead of “debit”, it would take an extra day to go through so I could go home tonight and transfer some money from my savings account to cover it if I didn’t.
but no, I couldn’t do that, because they don’t take debit cards on the first floor, only on the second and fourth floors! They accept only cash or checks in the Citation Paying Room, neither of which I had on me. I considered running to an ATM, getting some kizzash and running back, but then I’d have to stand in line again to pay, and then in line yet again to get my licence renewed, and the hour I had allotted myself before I had to be at work was running out.
Well Ok, this gives me time to get my tax refund so I can use that to pay the $203. Oh wait a minute, no I can’t because I can’t pay taxes until I get my licence renewed thanks to our friend the Patriot Act. Grrr. it’s just frustrating to have had my taxes done for a month now, but still not be able to file them. Fuck you, Patriot Act!
Come on, seriously– what terrorist is going to file someone else’s taxes, especially someone like me’s taxes? I can see Osama bin Laden now, “in the name of Allah, I will file this girl’s taxes, and in 4-6 weeks, with the $340 I get back from the state, I will build a bomb that will take out the entire country!”
