Stupid DMV is Giving Me Nothing to Complain About

I'm big on waiting until the last minute to do things that need to get done.  Renewing my driver's license was no exception.  Despite having two months advance notice to submit my paperwork through the mail, I waited until three days past its expiration.  Wearing my warm coat of pessimism, I drove down to my local DMV office.  I had counted on leaving with the same feelings of unpleasantness I would have if I rested a hot iron on my nuts.  So imagine my shock and chagrin when I walked out satisfied with the entire process.  I am rather upset about that.

Lied to by cartoons, yet again.

It's widely believed that DMV employees are all direct decedents of Lucifer and enjoy spending long lunch breaks feasting on the souls of unborn babies. But those employees must have called out sick because the people I dealt with were fair, even-tempered and, dare I say, somewhat pleasant.  I expected better of you, DMV.

My first stop was having my picture taken.  The woman who manned the camera had the audacity to say "please" and "thanks".  She made no snide remarks about any perceived facial deficiencies, unruly hair, or choice of smile.  Even worse was her tone of voice.  It was bereft of that condescending tone for which I had fully prepared myself.  Sometimes I think there is no God.

I grabbed my numbered ticket from her and proceeded to settle down for a long, tortuous wait with obnoxious people.  I looked around and found myself surrounded by quiet individuals minding their own business, waiting patiently and calmly.  Where were the unwashed fatties?  Where was that loud woman engaging in a "way too personal" cell phone conversation?  Where was that one sociopath boiling-over with pent-up rage?  They were nowhere to be found.  I wasn't giving up just yet.  I was going to commit myself to spending the next few hours finding that single dreg in this big vat of stew we call humanity.  But before I could begin my search, my number was called.  Unbelievable!  How dare they make my wait minimal?

The woman who was to process my paperwork was my last hope.  Surely she'd find a "t" that wasn't crossed or an "i" without its dot and send me back to start, dejected and small.  Not so.  She administered a quick eye-check, zipped through the form like a rocket-powered bureaucratic stallion, processed my payment without so much as a sneer and sent me cheerfully on my way.  I was tempted to be irrational, like complaining about the TVs being "too rectangular" or the instruction signs using a font I find "highly offensive", just to goad them into being unpleasant right back to me.  But by then I had given up all hope.  I was a satisfied customer and I had to accept it.  It made me want to puke bile in the pocket of my jeans and take it home with me as a sad souvenir.

As a part-time blogger and full-time complainer, I don't like my expectations shattered like a crystal vase.  If it's all going to be handjobs and lollipops with them from now on, I fear my tiny little alcove on the internet is going to become infested with pictures of puppy dogs and flowers.  And I don't want to even know the person that would appreciate that.

I may have to start writing letters to whomever it is that handles DMV relations*.  I'm demanding longer lines, surlier staff and more unreliable pens.  If they don't stop this alarming trend of efficiency, then hackneyed commentators such as myself will have to go out and find a real job.

*Basic research is overrated.