CHARISMATIC MEGAFAUNA

By Quiconque

Adventures at the DMV

Everyone knows that the DMV is a hateful place of ignorance and inefficiency.

I obtained my learner permit five years ago. Because I am the villain and the victim of my life story, I sat on my learner permit for five years without taking any steps, until very recently, to learn how to drive. Perhaps I thought I could hatch a driver license from all that sitting. Alas, no, and now the thing will expire next Monday, my 34th birthday.

The imminent expiration of this document is what prompted me, finally, to pursue driving education seriously. Hoping to be licensed before the dreaded deadline, I signed up for a crash course (oh, the puns!) with Mr. Rasheed. Unfortunately, the DMV could only accommodate me on the 20th, at the earliest.

Not many people know that a university library can also be a hateful place of ignorance and inefficiency. The computer program I need to do my job has been down for a week. Every morning someone promises it will be working by the afternoon, and every afternoon we find ourselves desperately trying to look busy, as the work we cannot do piles up around us.

This morning, I�d had enough. If I was going to spend the day sitting around, I wanted to have something to show for it. So, over to the Herald Square DMV I went.

The Herald Square DMV is located amid sneaker stores, Italian eateries, luxurious toiletry shops, and fast food establishments. It is housed in an oval building covered in black glass. I was pleasantly surprised at the lack of municipal architecture�until I went inside the DMV office. The office itself is decorated in Early Bureaucracy, complete with mint green wallpaper and handwritten directives (�Please turn off cell phones,� and �Do NOT lean on counter.�) It is staffed almost exclusively by middle-aged black women who give the impression that they have seen and heard it all. Don't bother trying to appeal to their sympathy or sense of humor. No attempt to be funny or cute will reach these women.

There were many �cute� people among the DMV supplicants. The uniform of the day seemed to be pink halter top, tight jeans, and stiletto mules, preferably white. Yes, I tell you, there were many women wearing this ensemble. These women thought, �Hmm, I�m going to spend the entire afternoon standing on line. What should I wear? Oh, the stiletto mules will do the trick.� No matter how cute the shoes, the gorgons behind the counter remained unimpressed.

The line to take the written test was held up by one hapless duo, a Greek man and his son. The father did not speak English. The son, who did, apparently hated his father and did not want to stand next to him one second longer than absolutely necessary. So, instead of helping his father by translating everything the grim woman was telling the old man, the son sat in the waiting area until the clerk, frustrated beyond all reason, screamed for him. �Hey, do your father speak English?!� (Oh, the irony!) At which point he joined his father, translated one sentence, and then went back to waiting area. After 10 minutes it was still unclear whether Papa was blind or illiterate. Either way he was unsympathetically shunted off the line.

Three hours later, I emerged from the dingy beige and mint hell, temporary permit in hand. For you grade-grubbers, I only got one question wrong. From now on, when I approach a worksite, I will worry less about road crew and more about the rear of the car in front of me.

The next step: driving with friends in a car that only has one set of pedals. Stay tuned.

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LINKS

DIARYRINGS

READING: Intersex and Identity by Sharon E. Preves

WATCHING: The Village. That Howard chick is amazing.