The one where I go off on another tangent about the DMV

I've always associated the DMV with things like people who don't bathe or brush their teeth and waiting in line with 400 other people for hours at a time because only one employee is working while the rest sit at their desks and cruise the internet, pausing only to glance up and give the waiting peons the finger...

Oh, and in case I didn't mention it, FUCK  YOU.

But today?

Today I added the DMV to my list of Bastards Who Need Killing.  (Don't worry... if you were on the list, I would have sent you a notice.  If you haven't heard from me, you're safe.)

Dr's Orders.

So yesterday was the whole Detour fiasco in which I couldn't GET to the DMV.  (Or was it the day before?  I don't remember.)  Oh yeah... it WAS the day before.  I needed a day to recover from my ordeal.

Today I decided to make another attempt, after calling the DMV and getting specific instructions on how to get there.

I had everything I needed:  My detour directions, Dan's paperwork all filled out (he turned in the plates on his truck because he stored it for the winter and drove my car instead, since his truck doesn't "handle well" in snow), proof of insurance, blah blah blah...

I drove the 15 miles to Canton, NY, where the DMV is, and then another 5 miles to find the detour.  Eventually, finally, after discovering that EVERY SINGLE FUCKING STREET IN CANTON is being worked on, I made it.

Glory halleluiahhhh, I sang to myself, as I gathered up my shit and followed the unwashed masses into the building, clearly marked as Dante's 7th Circle of Hell.

I waited in line for 20 minutes before finally getting my turn at the Pearly Gates.  I handed over my paperwork and smiled brightly at the grim faced employee as she perused my offerings.

"Where is the photocopy of Daniel's license?" she intoned.

Me:

Her:

Me:  "Huh?"

Her:  "Where's the photocopy of Daniel's license?"

Me:  *because I'm too fucking stupid to live*  "What license?  He turned his plates in.  I'm here to get them back."

Her:  *looking at me to verify that I am, indeed, too fucking stupid to live*  "His driver's license."


Ohhhh... you mean the ONE DAMN THING I DON'T HAVE?

I gathered up my paperwork, tucked my tail between my legs, drove the 46574395 miles back to Dan's workplace, stomped up to him, and informed him I needed a copy of his motherfuckingdriverslicense.

Five minutes later, I was back on the road to Canton.

25 minutes later, I was still stopped in traffic because, as previously stated, New York decided it would be a FABULOUS IDEA  to rip up alllll the roads in St. Lawrence County AT THE SAME TIME.


Eventually, I made it back to the DMV.

Once again, I carried in allll my paperwork and stood in line with the unwashed masses who had just eaten very garlicky and oniony lunches and hadn't brushed their teeth.

Finally, I made it up to the window and faced yet another grim and snarly employee.  I handed over my paperwork and smiled brightly as she perused it.

(Because I'm Mary Fucking Sunshine.  Did I forget to mention that?  No really, I am.  I hate myself sometimes for being so damn perky.)

Then, she stabbed one pointy, chipped nail at the date on my insurance policy and hissed, "This document was issued to you more than 45 days ago.  I can't accept it."


Me:  *blink*  *blink*

Me:  "This policy is good until October.  This is May."

Her:  *jabbing at the date again*  "You received these documents on April 7th.  That was more than 45 days ago.  I can't accept it."

Me:  "But it says that it's good through October..."

Her:  *going full-throttle bitch and stabbing some arbitrary booklet on her desk*  "IT SAYS HERE THAT I CAN'T ACCEPT DOCUMENTS DATED MORE THAN 45 DAYS AGO."

Me:  "Are you freaking kidding me?"

Her:  "No, I'm not FREAKING KIDDING YOU.  Next!"

Me:  "So what do I do?"

Her:  "I suggest you get out of my line and call your insurance company.  NEXT!"

Fucking.

WHORE.

Visions of leaping over the counter and beating her to death with my (really incredibly awesome) Ed Hardy Becca Bag with the chain handles flashed through my head.

This one, right here.  Now step off before I maim you with my incredibly awesome bag, DMV bitch.

I called my insurance company.

They kindly told me they would fax the necessary info over post-haste.

I got back in line behind the after school crowd (because by this time, I'd been there for over a freaking hour) and waited.

NATURALLY, the window that opened up when it was finally MY turn was the window with the very same bitch that I'd almost killed with my purse.  (In my mind, that is.  She has no idea that she was dead and bleeding on the floor while I skillfully tap-danced on her stupid pointy head.)

Go on!  Do it!  Those really adorable sandals are made for tap-dancing on heads!!

She looked at me and said, "I refuse to help you.  NEXT!"

No lie, people.

I stood there red-faced, sweating, and trying not to cry until another window opened up.

I got what I needed and left, willing my tears not to start until I was safely in my car.

And then, just because my day wasn't shitty enough, I spent 5 minutes trying to unlock the wrong damn car.

Again.

Because yes, I'm still driving the ^%^%$#@!!! Le Sabre.

I pushed the unlock button on the key fob, heard the answering click indicating the door was unlocked, reached for the handle, lifted...

Nope.  Wouldn't open.

Me:  *Push button... click... pull on handle...*

Nope.

Me:  *Push button... click.... pull on handle...*

Nope.

Times infinity.

Until I noticed that the car beHIND me was unlocking every time I clicked the unlock button.

Fuck.

Me.

Hard.


Long story short(ish) I drove my sad, sorry, and sweaty self to the store, bought a bag of tortilla chips, a jar of super hot salsa, a jar of queso, and Tom Collins mix, and came home.

If I don't have my bright and shiny red HHR parked back in my driveway tomorrow, heads will roll.

Don't say I didn't warn you.