Adventures in Licensing

A Day in Pursuit of a Little Plastic Card

                                                         by Lucky Bones

Today was clear and bright, just the sort of day one would choose to renew their driver's license. Mine expires at the end of next month. Usually I wait until the last minute to take care of such things, but since I made a resolution to quit procrastinating a year or two ago, I thought this would be a good time to implement it. I chose my day carefully, not only good weather but a day in the middle of the month in order to avoid the last-minute lineup at the end of the month and the "Oh I forgot!" people at the beginning of the month. I don't understand why these people wait till the last minute.

I arrived at the Motor Vehicle office about 9 am to find it filled with people squirming on the metal-seat folding chairs that fill the room. Of course this crowded condition is not unusual, and knowing from experience that most are there to renew their car tags, I headed across the room to the driver's license "express line" with a smile on my face, because there wasn't a single person standing in line. Upon arrival I found that this was because of the sign which read "Express line closed -- Please take a number at the information desk." So I went back to the information desk, which is literally a desk set in the pathway when you come in the door. On this desk was another sign that said "Information desk closed -- Please take a number." Next to the sign was a roll of pull-off number tickets. No dispenser, just a bare roll. I pulled one off, number 96. A glance at the back wall showed me that the number being helped was 53. A father and daughter behind me got number 97 and were in debate over whether to leave and try again another time, the same  debate I was having with myself. Of course doing so is a real crapshoot -- it's possible to come back when the conditions are even worse. Oh yes, it can be worse.

I walked out to my vehicle and got a magazine, returned and found myself a slick metal chair. 15 minutes later they were up to number 55. I estimated that I might get my turn sometime next week and visualized myself camping out in line for days like a teenager getting tickets to a rock concert. Then inspiration struck. I left and went to eat a late breakfast.

At the little bakery cafe, I sat and visited with the owner and her father, ate an excellent omelet and drank 5 cups of coffee. After an hour and a half or so, I thought it wouldn't hurt to stop by the Motor Vehicle office just to see what was going on. I still had ticket number 96 in my pocket, walked in and looked on the wall to see that the current number was....95! Unbelievable! I had a momentary thrill of excitement and smugness untill I realized that number 96 didn't do me a damn bit of good because the "express line" was open and all driver's license people had to be processed through that line, which was clear across the room and back to the window. 26 people. Last in line were the father and daughter who had followed me in the first time. A greasy-haired guy stepped into line just before I did and from two feet away his body odor was so rank that it made breathing difficult. I had my magazine and read an editorial as I stood and the line grew behind me, hitting the wall and curving back.

It's not well known, but there is a provision in the United States Constitution mandating the Maximum Allowable Speed of Movement, or MASOM, for all workers (and I use the term loosely) in Motor Vehicle Departments of the various states. I know this because I've been licensed in 5 states and all personnel have adhered to the same strict standard in lack of speed. The only allowable variance from this required speed ...excuse me, I mean required lack of speed is the jaw. It's not for talking. No, everyone hired for a DMV job must pass a test in which they can prove an ability to chew gum with a speed at least double the national average. Disciplinary action for exceeding the MASOM (outside of the jaw exemption) is suspension for a certain period of time (with pay), a violation most often committed when going on break. This is why there's never a full staff at any DMV office in the country. These people are the cream of the crop--if postal clerks are the Soldiers of Slow, these people are the Green Berets. The few. The proud. The pokey.

I was breathing through my mouth trying to avoid smelling the guy in front of me, lagging behind so far I was afraid someone would cut in line. I looked at the clock, I'd been there 10 minutes. I counted how many people were still in line before me. 27 people. I did a quick calculation and realized that I was going to die of old age right here in this line. Either that or those five cups of coffee were going to force me to abandon my place when and if I got close to the front. I finished my editorial. I looked at the time. I counted the people in front of me. I left.

There's a little town about 20 miles west of my medium-sized city, several people had advised me about a small DMV office there where the problems are on more of a minor scale. I had to call a different DMV office to get the number in order to check and make sure they were open. The lady was nice, said they were closed from noon to 1 for lunch and Wednesdays she was in another little town. I drove out. One thing I'd forgotten to ask was the location of the office but this town is just two blocks long, so I drove down Main Street and there it was. Inside were the same metal chairs, but only two people in front of me. In just a short time I was at the desk, read the eye chart, wrote a check and stood against the blue screen to get my photo snapped. "Gotcha!" the lady said and with a bound of her lavender corduroy pants was back at her desk telling me to take a seat, it would be just few minutes. People came in, got their car tags and left. The chairs began to fill up. A guy sat next to me who had the same rank body odor I'd found at the other office and I wondered if they were related or if we were suffering from a deodorant shortage in our part of the country. My chair had a forward slope and I had to plant my feet to keep from sliding. I wondered if I could remember to bring a pillow to sit on next time. After a half hour the lady looked up, saw me and yelled "Did you ever get your license?" Since she was the only one working, I thought she should know. I shook my head.

She reached into the machine and held it out to me. "Why didn't you holler at me?" she asked.

"It didn't occur to me," I told her. "But I'll know next time."

Next time. The license is good for 4 years and I'm already developing a plan. First off, I'm going to delay my "no procrastination" resolution until at least then. That'll give me another month of avoidance. I'm making a checklist of things to take with me. An Mp3 player, a copy of War and Peace, my cell phone with an extra battery. A laptop computer, and I already know what I'm going to write. There will be plenty of time to compose a letter to my congressman and senators proposing a constitutional amendment to increase the MASOM. Just a little bit. I'm pretty sure it'll get bipartisan support.