So we are swiftly closing in on the 30 day limit of driver’s license/plates/registration grace period for those fresh to the area. Stalling no longer, I primped sufficiently for a photo op and hauled my cookies to the Commonwealth of Virginia’s closest-to-me DMV. My hopes were high as there were 17 lit up numbered windows and a take-a-number sign with a number-calling voice (eerily similar to the Curves “change stations now” every 30-seconds voice. Maybe the voices are sisters. But I digress).
My high hopes were quickly dashed by the 150 waiting chairs of which there were only about 25 without bodies in them. Fortunately I brought a 200+ page book to read. Which I finished. I was entrusted with my Magic Number C256 however, part of the insanity was the process of number calling that was not at all in order–alphabetic OR numeric. I now have ADD from looking up every time the voice came on with a random number. D345! rats. A091! crud. B456! Oh, now come ON! After a while, when they would called one of the C numbers, no matter what the digits were, I was soooo cheering on the inside for my fellow C-teammates. YES! C numbers ALL THE WAY!!!! IN YOUR FACE A’s!!! Who’s average now??
C256 was also time stamped, so when I got to the one hour mark, I became antsy and moved to another section that looked more productive. And also was away from the faux-hawked kid who wrote on my leg with the handy dandy DMV clipboard pen. His mom kept saying “Don’t bother the lady or she’s gonna yell at you” and “Don’t mark on that man’s white shirt in front of us or he’s gonna beat you” and then “Leave the security guard alone. Her gun’s not a toy like yours.” Niiiice. No offense to the well behaved faux-hawk kids out there.
Finally FINALLY the magic number was called: C256! BINGO BABY! It was all I could do to not run down the aisle like some bouncy Price Is Right contestant clapping and gleefully yelling and running and waving my number proudly for all to see. I contained my self using that helpful Fruit of the Spirit — self-control. That particular fruit has come in SOOO handy in my life many times, lemme just tell you. (“Not nearly enough” you may be thinking if you know me well). So I go to the designated window lady who somehow proceeds to completely avoid speaking to, or making eye contact with me. I hand her my stuff and basically watch her tap away on her computer for about 12 minutes. All I could do was stand there wondering if the people behind me were watching, thinking to themselves that I have a “butt like a sista” and/or just plain drooling over my good fortune of having # C256 and so I kept myself busy finding something to spit my gum into. When the gal was finished tapping, she told me to have a seat and wait for my name to be called for the picture. Lipstick time!
After sufficient purse rummaging, lipstick choosing and application, and another 25 minutes, my ACTUAL NAME was called. HAAAAAAALLLLLELUJAH! HAAAAAALLLLELUJAH! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! And so forth. Making up for the non-speaking Customer Service Professional, the License Photog called me “sweetie” and showed me where to put my toes. Click. “Yay!” I foolishly thought. “Done!” Oh, but no. “Sit over there and I’ll call you when it’s ready. Heavy Sigh.
Flash forward to a grand total of 90 total minutes for this glamour shot which Big Sister Daughter says is SUCH an improvement over the Michigan one:
Nice tan, huh? Now for that pesky plate & registration…