Okay, everyone has their nightmare story about going to the Department of Motor Vehicles. I remember tryng to get my driver’s license in Chicago. You would enter the building, get a number from the dispenser and take a seat. Your number could be 97 and they would be on 23. Kiss that day goodbye.
Steamboat Springs may be a far cry from Chicago, however going to the DMV is still a major pain in the ass. They have one person who works there. In fact, the last person who held this post retired and it took a few months for the government to fill the position. This meant that we couldn’t get a driver’s license or state ID card locally. Things are better now. Now we have John.
Today I went to our local DMV office to help my 90 year old grandmother get her Colorado state ID. Our DMV office is quite small; no number dispeners here. There is a tiny waiting area with 10 chairs that is separated from the main office by a doorway. When I arrived with my grandmother there were only two people ahead of us. The situation didn’t look too bleak. The first person wrapped up his business rather quickly. The second person, well, he had issues. At least a half an hour’s worth of issues. During this time the waiting room was beginning to fill up and was reaching seating capacity. Well, you might say, “There are only 10 chairs, what’s the big deal?” Did I mention that John is the only employee at our local DMV? So when the phone rings who do you think has to answer it? If you guessed John you are correct. I would also like to add that the phone rings quite frequently. John is not a spitfire at his job and has no concept of multi-tasking. Must have something to do with his job security.
The second person finally wrapped up his saga and it was now our turn. Grandma had her own set of issues. She is trying to get an ID card with documents that are as old as Christ himself. We are told that her information cannot be validated due to how ancient she is. I try to joke with John saying something to the effect of her being a US citizen longer than he has been alive. This is lost on John. In fact, he tells us that this is exactly why we are having such difficulty. Due to the age of grandma’s citizenship her documents are in a box somewhere in DC and someone is going to have to physically search for them.
Meanwhile, the mob in the waiting room had begun to bond. Someone must have told a funny joke as everyone was howling with laughter. John, who was naturally on the phone at the time, became irritated by the merriment and slammed the door to the waiting room shut. This produced an even louder burst of laughter from the mob. Around this time my grandmother announces that she has to go to the bathroom and politely asks John if she may use the facilities. The fact that he let her leaves me with some hope that John’s soul is still salvageable. After some typing into his computer and a phone call to someone, John informs us that he can only issue a temporary ID card. Grandma will have to make an appointment with the Naturalization office in Denver in order to get a permanent one. This has taken 30 minutes. Fuck the ID card, I’m ready for Armageddon. The entire time that John is explaining this to us grandma has gas. She let out an audible toot every couple of words that John uttered. If I heard them than John must have. Yet his expression never wavered. I don’t think he’s human. An android perhaps. An android without an emotion chip. I nearly pissed myself.
Grandma finally gets her picture taken for her temporary ID. We thank John for what I don’t know and begin our exit through the waiting room. The next person in line leaps out of his chair and grandma wishes him good luck. Another howl of laughter ensues as we leave the building. Poor John.
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