Luckily for me, there is a DMV within a five minute drive of my apartment. Unluckily for me, it's located right next to Ellis Island.
I knew there were foreigners in Alexandria, but do they all have to go to my DMV? When I got there the line was out the door. I say again. OUT THE DOOR. I've NEVER seen that at a DMV. But, I've been driving with DC tags for too long, and I need to change to VA. So I sigh, make the sign of the cross and join the fray.
Once inside the doors, past the Indian security guard, I see what the hold up is. The check-in dude is making sure everyone has what they need to do what they're there to do. What makes this difficult is he doesn't speak Spanish, Arabic, Hindi, Pashtu, Dari, Mandarin Chinese, Korean, Swahili, Russian, and Klingon. Shame on him, he only speaks English.
Anyway, I make my way up to him, who is all the while booting immigrants left and right because they have no clue what they're doing. This guy is actually pretty squared away. He prints me a number and tells me to take a seat.
I look for an open chair, but there's not many choices. Damn. I can either sit next to this:
Once inside the doors, past the Indian security guard, I see what the hold up is. The check-in dude is making sure everyone has what they need to do what they're there to do. What makes this difficult is he doesn't speak Spanish, Arabic, Hindi, Pashtu, Dari, Mandarin Chinese, Korean, Swahili, Russian, and Klingon. Shame on him, he only speaks English.
Anyway, I make my way up to him, who is all the while booting immigrants left and right because they have no clue what they're doing. This guy is actually pretty squared away. He prints me a number and tells me to take a seat.
I look for an open chair, but there's not many choices. Damn. I can either sit next to this:
Or this:
Ugh. Are my shots up to date? Yes. But there's no accounting for diseases that come out of the highlands of Burma.
Quick, there's gotta be something else. Ah, there's a normal looking person. I sit. But I still slide the way-too-close chair away a couple inches. Survival of the most paranoid.
A tone sounds, and the lady who tells me to leave a message at the beep informs me the DMV is now serving Number A064. I look at my ticket. C3,454,678. Damn. I better open up this National Geographic that I'm damn glad I brought.
About this time I hear someone shouting. Why not, I think. I look up when he yells at someone to "Wash yer hands! Wash yer hands, please!"
What in hell? How do you know he didn't wash his hands? I mean, sure, he looks dirty, but how do you know?
-"I want more, more please!"
-"I like Barny!"
Oh. This dude is loopy in the head. Tourette's? Likely. Hilarity? Definately.
Sigh. Why not. It never fails with the DMV. Except I didn't expect this many immigrants. Which got me thinking: I don't remember this many immigrants at the DC DMV. Do immigrants live in DC? I think they all live in Northern Virginia. Within a mile of my apartment, apparently.
-"Wash yer hands! HahaHAAA!"
I look to my right. That guy might be a skin head or a Neo-Nazi. Definately a white supremacist. How hasn't he killed anyone yet? Maybe I should lighten up on the whole foreigner thing. I don't want to be like this guy. I don't dislike foreigners THAT much. Just a little. Please don't carve a swastika into my forehead. Quick, look away before he makes eye contact.
Phew. That was close. What number is up right now? C218. Soon. Soon.
Let's see, what else do we have here? Somebody tell that thing to sit down, it's going to be a while.
Bing! "Now serving number C224." That's me! So long, suckers.
I get to the window. "How are you doing today?"
Yikes! Quick. Say something. Say anything! Before it eats you!
"IneedtogetaVirginialicenseandregisterandtitlemycarinVirginia!" Phew. In the words of Lando Calrissian, that was too close.
The licensing went fine. Then I went to take the picture. The woman in line in front of me stood up to get her picture taken with a wide, toothy smile. "Don't show your teeth!" Said Ms. Cambodia 1972 from behind the counter. The woman closed her mouth, but still smiled. "Neutral expression!" The woman looked a little hurt, and slightly depressed. Flash, click.
So, your picture should look like you've just spent two hours at the DMV. That's going to be easy. Done.
Then we got the the title.
"Do you have your Pennsylvania title?"
No. I have my DC title. How the hell could I have my car titled in two places at once? That's impossible. Shouldn't you, as a DMV employee, know that?
"I need to talk to a manager."
Fine. You do that. I'll just sit here and enjoy the Barnum & Bailey Freak Show that's going on around me. It reminds me of the Wendy's in Carlisle, PA, near where I went to high school. There was one shift there that I called the Side Show. The guy at the register was shaped like Grimace, had a porn mustache, and sounded like a ten year old girl. The woman on the grill was eight feet tall and sounded like Carl Weathers. The woman on drive through recently celebrated her 300th birthday. And the rest of the crew were extras from the Thriller video.
But they made a mean burger.
I'll admit it. The reason I don't lose my mind at the DMV is because the freaks and geeks here keep me entertained. There's always some weirdo to look at, and even more to make fun of in a highly inappropriate and usually mean wa-
Jesus! Get that away from me!
"Here's your Virginia title, registration, and plates." Thanks. Can I leave?
"You're all done."
-"Wash yer hands, please! Wash yer feet!"
Good call, buddy. These smelly oafs should listen to you.
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