THE DMV IS RUN BY SATAN

Let me just start out by saying, I'm screwed. And not in a "good" way that involves vegetable oil and plastic.

I'm screwed because the DMV, which is run by the DEVIL himself (that's what the "D" stands for you know) likes to screw with people. If you listen closely outside any DMV office not only will you hear legions of hell-monkeys preparing for flight, but you will also hear Satan laughing at you as he rips a head off a dove. It is an unholy place of endless suffering that every American is forced to endure.

My husband and I own a 1992 Ford Ranger pickup. My husband, who originally bought the truck, signed it over to me so I could get a debt consolidation loan and could use it as collateral. The truck was also my main form of transportation until about a year ago, when I decided that a new car payment would roughly equal the amount of gas the Ranger guzzled. Since that time, the Ranger has served as our third vehicle - a nice standby when we go to Home Depot or need to dispose of bodies in the middle of the night.

Six months ago, the truck was due for its registration renewal. But being a 1992 gas-guzzling truck with some mechanical problems, it will not pass smog. Since we rarely drove it, I just decided not to register it for awhile until we figured out what to do. It just sat in our driveway - proudly proclaiming that hillbillies could live in our house - so soliciters better be careful of stray rifle fire.

Since that time, I paid off the consolidation loan and got a piece of paper that allows me to get the title again in  my name. I made an appointment about a month ago to go to the DMV and do just that.

Now I thought the purpose of getting an appointment at the DMV was so that you didn't have to stand in line. Stupid, silly me. The real purpose of making an appointment at the DMV is so the Devil and his minions can give you false hope that you may be able to see your family again in the next month, when in fact you will most likely never see your family again once they suck you into their vortex of pain.

First, I had to stand in line to get a number. I had to get three numbers actually, because not only was I taking care of the truck business, I was also re-registering my new car and renewing my drivers license. Three numbers - three transactions. God forbid anyone who works at the DMV know how to do more than one thing, afterall.

As I stood in line getting numbers - and I am not making this up - one of my numbers was called. The Devil's minions flash numbers on TV monitors to tell you which number will be served at what teller line (of which there are six). I was looking at the monitors hoping that eventually Jerry Springer or maybe All My Children would come on instead when I saw the number "50" just before I walked up to the teller who hands you the numbers. One of the tickets she gave me also said "50."

Thinking that because I made an appointment I was treated to this special number, I ran to the corresponding teller, but when I got through that line, the number "50" was no longer on the screen. The teller told me since my number had expired, I would have to go get another one (in the first long line) and come back. Meanwhile, my other two numbers flashed on the screen simultaneously. I ran to the what I thought was the shortest of the two lines, thinking I could at least get one thing done, but the same thing happened. By the time the person ahead of me finished, my number had "expired" and I was sent back for more numbers.

This circle of numbered death continued for a very long time. This is a game for the minions, who try to see how long they can fuck with you before you start to exhibit signs of homicidal mania. I must have been frothing at the mouth when finally, an amused and twisted teller said she'd take me anyway, but what had I been doing with my time that I kept missing my number being called? I bit through my lip in an effort to keep from bitch-slapping her.

She told me that I could not get a duplicate title of the truck in my name, even though it was released, unless I got the truck registered. I was willing to pay the fee, but told her it would not pass smog. That won't work, she said. The only other other option, she said, was to get a non-operators permit for the truck in order to get the title. But because I let the registration expire, I would have to wait until it was due again to do this - about nine months.

"So you are saying i can't get the title to a vehicle I legally own?" I asked her in between clenched teeth.

"Yes," the devil bitch responded.

"But what if I wanted to sell it?" I asked. She told me I could sign over the DMV application for duplicate title to the new owner and write them a sales receipt, which would suffice. They might take that. "Might." Swell.

Well the bitch fucking lied to me. We have been trying to sell that damned truck and no one will take it without the damned title. On top of it all, the DMV sent me a notice today saying they would attach my wages or bank accounts if I didn't register the truck. WHAT THE FUCK? There's a truck sitting on my personal and private property that I legally own but which I can't sell and which could cost me more than it's worth in legal fees?

Can you see the flying hell-monkeys circling around my head?

I spent the day on the phone trying to call the DMV this time - at a number they put on the angry-red Devil notice they sent me threatening to take my first born. It took me two hours of pressing random numbers, but I finally got through. The person on the other end was a little nicer than the one I talked to in person, but it was probably just because I couldn't see her horns or forked tongue. She told me the first devil-bitch was wrong - that if I paid the registration fee, I could still get the title. But I'd have to do it in person (which is another day of line-hopping, number-jumping hell).

So now I'm headed to Satan's den again for another 18 hour visit in which I will pay $183 to register a truck that I will never again drive or use, and that is only worth $800. It will then take me two weeks, they say, to get the title. Although two weeks in DMV time is probably more like two years real time.

But I will do it. Because the DMV is evil, and quite frankly, I'm afraid not to. Those monkeys have always scared the shit out of me.

Comments

[Daisy]

The glass is half full my dear. At least you get to ditch work and I'm sure you will get some good material for cookie while you wait. Also, if you do go homicidal I'll bail you out. Really, you've got no worries. Have fun!

[j]

Visiting the DMV ranks right up there with jury duty as one of "my shittiest days". I find that there are always several slovenly looking trolls grazing about the DMV “bullpen”, chatting with one another while long lines snake about. I refer to them as refugees from a soup kitchen, or perhaps those are my fellow line dancers.

It’s a cross we all must bear CB, but we feel your pain. And we laugh at it.

[liz]

sooooo... did u ever see the dane cook thing where he talks about how every time you walk in the door at the dmv someone should jump out and punch you in the face.. cus then you'll be like "OW!!! well atleast waiting in line won't be so bad now after a punch in the face"
funny stuff