I thought you all would like to know the end of the pretend, made up, and hypothetical story from yesterday.
Ahem.
Flash back to our fictional, imaginary heroine, who is beautiful, has flawless skin, and long, luxurious hair. She is so thin that models come seeking her advice on weight loss, and her mailbox is constantly full of love notes from the chiseled perfection that is Daniel Craig.
Admittedly, I might have gotten carried away with that last bit.
ANYway, upon noticing the smoking chimney staring her down, she immediately threw her car into reverse and drove around the block like the chicken that she is. After about ten minutes, she went back to the DMV with her husband's forged signature, and stood in what was now a very long line.
She, whoever she may be, is definitely not as brave as some of you fine people who would willingly forge their husband's signature while staring down the chain-smoking psychos of the DMV.
But our heroine was able to successfully register her new vehicle and is thrilled to finally have license plates.
She is mourning the loss of a gazillion billion dollars from her bank account, however.
And I feel certain that our heroine would choose to drown her sorrows in a diet coke from Sonic and a mini twix bar.
Who can waste calories on a Twinkie anyway? Especially with that delicious Daniel Craig just lying around . . .
The end.
Showing posts with label Death by DMV. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Death by DMV. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Hypothetical fun on a Monday morning
Let's just say you get a new car. And, because you are not excited about handing over a gazillion billion dollars in sales tax to your local DMV, you wait until the last possible second to go in and register that car.
And let's just say, for imagination's sake, that upon entering the DMV, you gleefully notice there is no line. You eagerly hand over your 9,548 sheets of papers required by the local DMV.
All appears to be going well until the local DMV worker notices that your husband's signature is missing on one of the forms. You curse silently because you know that your husband is out of town for the week.
In this completely fictional situation, you would probably smile, take your piles of forms, and head out to your car. Because you are such a good person, you would then FedEx the documents to your husband's hotel, where he would sign his own name, and promptly FedEx them back the next day.
But let's just say, for argument's sake, that you are really good at signing your husband's name. So good, in fact, that he, himself, is unable to tell the difference between his own signature and your version.
Given this fact, hypothetically, you might wait out in your car, mentally allowing the ten minutes it would take for you to drive home and obtain the signature from your husband. You know, if he were actually there. You might decide to pass the time by calling your sister-in-law for a chat.
And let's just say that while you are sitting in the car chatting, not driving home for a signature from a husband who is not there, you look up to see the DMV worker who just helped you, coming out for his smoke break. He takes a few long, cancer-riddled puffs, looks your way, and notices you sitting there in your car.
Oh, frick.
In this type of alleged, hypothetical situation, do you:
a) Sit there in defiance and go back into the DMV with the signature magically obtained?
b) Give up, and go seek comfort in a Costco-sized box of Twinkies?
c) Drive around the parking lot like a coward before returning with the signature magically obtained?
d) Drive away and throw your shoe at the DMV door in protest, all while yelling obscenities and curses?
What would you do in this alleged situation, my friends?
Disclaimer: I'm not saying this was me or anyone I know. Definitely not me this morning. I have been sitting here at my desk, calmly thinking of solutions to potential problems such as this one.
I'm a problem solver, people. It's what I do.
And let's just say, for imagination's sake, that upon entering the DMV, you gleefully notice there is no line. You eagerly hand over your 9,548 sheets of papers required by the local DMV.
All appears to be going well until the local DMV worker notices that your husband's signature is missing on one of the forms. You curse silently because you know that your husband is out of town for the week.
In this completely fictional situation, you would probably smile, take your piles of forms, and head out to your car. Because you are such a good person, you would then FedEx the documents to your husband's hotel, where he would sign his own name, and promptly FedEx them back the next day.
But let's just say, for argument's sake, that you are really good at signing your husband's name. So good, in fact, that he, himself, is unable to tell the difference between his own signature and your version.
Given this fact, hypothetically, you might wait out in your car, mentally allowing the ten minutes it would take for you to drive home and obtain the signature from your husband. You know, if he were actually there. You might decide to pass the time by calling your sister-in-law for a chat.
And let's just say that while you are sitting in the car chatting, not driving home for a signature from a husband who is not there, you look up to see the DMV worker who just helped you, coming out for his smoke break. He takes a few long, cancer-riddled puffs, looks your way, and notices you sitting there in your car.
Oh, frick.
In this type of alleged, hypothetical situation, do you:
a) Sit there in defiance and go back into the DMV with the signature magically obtained?
b) Give up, and go seek comfort in a Costco-sized box of Twinkies?
c) Drive around the parking lot like a coward before returning with the signature magically obtained?
d) Drive away and throw your shoe at the DMV door in protest, all while yelling obscenities and curses?
What would you do in this alleged situation, my friends?
Disclaimer: I'm not saying this was me or anyone I know. Definitely not me this morning. I have been sitting here at my desk, calmly thinking of solutions to potential problems such as this one.
I'm a problem solver, people. It's what I do.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Facing my fears
This was going to be it. This time would be my last, I was sure of it.
I stood in the endless line for the second time today, staring at the back of all the heads in front of me. I wondered if any of these people have been here before. I rocked back and forth, shifting my weight from leg to leg. I thought of my mental to-do list, and how none of it was going to get done today. I sighed, and wished this ordeal was already over. I said a silent prayer that I'd make it home by the time the kids get off the bus in two hours.
Slowly, painfully, the line shuffled forward. Nervously, I checked and re-checked. Did I have everything this time? Would I ever have to come back?
The woman behind me kept trying to get me to talk to her. I did not want to converse. Not here. Not this place. Every time I turned forward, thinking the conversation had ended, she tapped me on the shoulder and began anew. I was just too nervous to really concentrate on what she was saying. Something about bank accounts, assets, and China. Things that meant nothing to me right now.
There was a lot of grumbling going on in the line. People were losing patience. Rational people that had been pushed beyond their capacity to cope. I felt as though I was in the midst of an angry mob. Any moment, the crowd could turn and sweep us all away in the rage. And yet, the oblivious old woman kept chatting. Doesn't she realize this is not a place to talk? This is a place where we all wait silently. Obeying the rules. Doing what they tell us.
More shuffling forward. I check my watch again. Minutes pass by like hours, it seems. When I am sure that my knees will buckle and my legs will give out, I look up to see that I am almost there. I turn my back again on the chatty woman and re-check my papers. I feel slightly confident that all this will not have been in vain.
Oh joy! I am the next person in line. It is almost my turn. I WILL make it out of here. The man in front of me begins arguing. There is shouting, and waving of fists. Paperwork is slammed on the desk. I start to sweat. I feel my pulse quicken. Nervously I wonder, will it be like this for me, too?
He grabs his papers and heads for the door, shouting obscenities. Cursing the woman at the desk.
She cries back, "IT'S NOT LIKE I CHOSE THIS FOR A CAREER, YOU KNOW."
She turns to look at me, power and rage filling her eyes. Through gritted teeth she snarls, "NEXT!"
It's my turn to face the beast. I take a deep breath and step forward, keeping my head up. I stand in front of the desk and hand my papers to the woman, praying I have not made her angry.
She, the Nazi of the DMV.
I stood in the endless line for the second time today, staring at the back of all the heads in front of me. I wondered if any of these people have been here before. I rocked back and forth, shifting my weight from leg to leg. I thought of my mental to-do list, and how none of it was going to get done today. I sighed, and wished this ordeal was already over. I said a silent prayer that I'd make it home by the time the kids get off the bus in two hours.
Slowly, painfully, the line shuffled forward. Nervously, I checked and re-checked. Did I have everything this time? Would I ever have to come back?
The woman behind me kept trying to get me to talk to her. I did not want to converse. Not here. Not this place. Every time I turned forward, thinking the conversation had ended, she tapped me on the shoulder and began anew. I was just too nervous to really concentrate on what she was saying. Something about bank accounts, assets, and China. Things that meant nothing to me right now.
There was a lot of grumbling going on in the line. People were losing patience. Rational people that had been pushed beyond their capacity to cope. I felt as though I was in the midst of an angry mob. Any moment, the crowd could turn and sweep us all away in the rage. And yet, the oblivious old woman kept chatting. Doesn't she realize this is not a place to talk? This is a place where we all wait silently. Obeying the rules. Doing what they tell us.
More shuffling forward. I check my watch again. Minutes pass by like hours, it seems. When I am sure that my knees will buckle and my legs will give out, I look up to see that I am almost there. I turn my back again on the chatty woman and re-check my papers. I feel slightly confident that all this will not have been in vain.
Oh joy! I am the next person in line. It is almost my turn. I WILL make it out of here. The man in front of me begins arguing. There is shouting, and waving of fists. Paperwork is slammed on the desk. I start to sweat. I feel my pulse quicken. Nervously I wonder, will it be like this for me, too?
He grabs his papers and heads for the door, shouting obscenities. Cursing the woman at the desk.
She cries back, "IT'S NOT LIKE I CHOSE THIS FOR A CAREER, YOU KNOW."
She turns to look at me, power and rage filling her eyes. Through gritted teeth she snarls, "NEXT!"
It's my turn to face the beast. I take a deep breath and step forward, keeping my head up. I stand in front of the desk and hand my papers to the woman, praying I have not made her angry.
She, the Nazi of the DMV.
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