How the DMV Made A Fool Of Me



Everyone hates the DMV. That's a given. But I have come to the conclusion that the DMV, somehow, as an entity, hates me. Perhaps I pissed off Dmvitrys, the god of Bureaucracy, in some sort of past life. Or maybe some sort of bureaucrat cursed an ancestor of mine for not filling out the right form. Whatever the reason, every time I visit the Department of Motor Vehicles, I end up looking like a fool.

Before each dreaded visit, I research what I need and mentally prepare myself for the inevitable psychological torment. Knowing that a bureaucracy is a fickle beast, I always make sure to get the best paper work that I can. Very official and such. And, much like Sisyphus, whenever I actually accomplish something required by the DMV, I spend so much time waiting to find out if I did it right, that the proverbial boulder has rolled back down and I have to do something else that I foolishly overlooked.



Symbolism!


So, I looked up what I documents I required to register the fantastic Swedish automobile I just purchased. I had a title, bill of sale and proof of insurance, so all I needed was my emissions test. So, after finally freeing time in my "busy" "schedule" to get my emissions test, I went in early yesterday to get it over with. I failed quickly. The gas cap didn't have enough of a seal on it. It wasn't expensive, but I still had to pay for a failed test and the cap. At least I could get it tested for free again within the next 10 days.

Fast forward to today. Oversleeping didn't deter me from desperately attempting to complete the emissions and registration in one day. At promptly 11:04, I rolled out of bed, threw some clothes on and Volvo'd my way over to the emissions testing station. An evil place for sure, but the lesser of two evils in this case. Those waiting booths are like coffins and the people who work there always seem disappointed in you. Not angry, disappointed. Like how your parents get when it's been a month you haven't registered your car yet.



How can you stay disappointed when I went to all this trouble to draw this face...?

 Let me just say right here, that I empathize with the emissions test people.  It's loud and smelly and you have to deal with people's crappy cars. I get it. But no matter how environmentally sound your car is, or how well the test is going, every single emissions test technician-person gives me a look like "Why would you even bother bringing this in? You're clearly going to fail." If the concept of disdain were to ever personify, it would be as someone who works at an emissions testing station.







Hint: they're all disappointment.



Anyways, back to the DMV.  I triumphantly, but cautiously drove back into town to the courthouse that housed the den of evil. Getting my paperwork in order, double checking that my insurance had indeed kicked in and the bill of sale was filled out, I steeled my will and crossed the threshold.

Already crowed, but that's to be expected. It was noon thirty and I had two hours before work, so I prayed I'd get out of there on time. Took a number. 242. It was on 193. This could be a while.  I called work to let them know I might be a bit late, but that I'd leave by 2:20 if my number hadn't been called. I kept trying to come up with a coherent joke about purgatory, but none seemed to work. This place was draining me. Looking back, the next hour and a half of my life wasn't necessarily the longest or the most painful, but perhaps it was the most wasted. 

I waste time so much that you wouldn't think it'd bother me, but that time is specifically wasted on purpose. I need to waste some of my precious time to relax and deal with the "stresses" of my "life." But when I am forced to waste time? Well, that's different. I do not like to be coerced. However, even if I had known it would have been a waste, what would I do? Fight the "man"? Only fools try to fight the system and as I would soon learn, I had already made enough of a fool of myself.




90% of looking foolish is a vacant expression. I've already got that down.


I strolled on up to the desk of a deceptively pleasant looking lady and set my paperwork down. The following is a paraphrasing, but essentially what happened.  I don't care to recall the exact conversation because I was such a fool.

 "Registering a vehicle? Colorado title? Do you have everything?" she said, disturbingly polite. "Yep. Bill of sale, proof of insurance, emissions, title. I've got it all!" I foolishly said like a foolish fool. "What are these marks on the title? If there are any erasures or changes on the title it's void!" "Oh, sorry," I said "that was me. I started to sign my name where I was supposed to print it." She pursed her lips in disappointment, "I'll see what I can do. Where is the other signature?"  "What? What other signature?"  "Well," she started, condescendingly I might add, "the vehicle had joint ownership on the title so both sellers are required to sign."  "But..." "Do you know the sellers?" "Not really, I bought the car off of Craigslist..." "Well, try and find them. Have a nice day."

After all that time! I had forgotten something so simple! I was so stupid, so dumb, so.....foolish. Defeated, I sulked back to the Volvo. I drove it back home angrily, yet carefully, and parked it. Searching through my phone's call log, I called the guy I bought the Volvo from and left a message. I grumbled and cursed my misfortune as I unlocked my bike and pedaled to work.  On the way, I developed the theory that the universe does not want me to legally own a car. By the time I got to work I debunked my own theory and came up with a new one: I may be relatively smart and well prepared sometimes, but I'm basically an inattentive fool. Fooly fooly fool.



I'm mainly just sad because it's covering my hair.



At least I'll have more time to think about stuff while riding my bike.