Let me tell you a little about my adventures in waiting yesterday.
It was to be a relaxing day away from the hustle and bustle of the office, all the more welcome after an already lengthened weekend. It. Was. Not.
Pardon the pauses, there, but everything seemed drawn out yesterday and I couldn't help but keep it going for a little bit there. I. Apologize. But. It's. Largely. Beyond. My. Control.
I think my first mistake was trying to get in and out of an Ohio BMV office in less than an hour. Hah. Hah. It. Took. More. Than. An. Hour.
Something more like three hours, all told. After an hour and a half of waiting (including twenty minutes of standing in a line for which I had no reason), I needed to leave to drop by my doctor's office to find out about my cholesterol. It. Was. 207.
Back to the BMV, though, I merely needed to renew my driver's license. Anything I can possibly do online with the BMV, I do (namely, tag renewal), but licenses require an actual visit. At first I stood in the first line I saw (somebody had jokingly called it the express line) and it was useless. I'd noticed that there were no numbers in the dispenser, but like the others around I'd done nothing about it. It wasn't until the stereotypical fat impatient old lady showed up and looked impatient for ten minutes showed up that we got new numbers (thank you, old lady, for getting us the new numbers and butting ahead of the other four of us to take yours first). The number on the wall was 78 and the one in my hand was 11. I knew that this batch started at around 05, though, so that at least was some consolation. 79, 80, 82, 84, 85, and most of the nineties were sitting around the lobby, however, and it was at the number 08 that I left, discouraged. I was tempted to give my number to one of the people I knew to be holding 20s and up, but only tempted.
Some of these people... I know that I sound elitist and misogynistic and snobbish but... they represented several chapters of the dregs of society. I won't go into much detail except to describe a family that stood first in the express line and then grabbed a high number. It was a father, mother, young son and baby in a carrying seat thing. I don't know what they were there to do, but the little brat had taken the baby's pacifier and the father wasn't going to stand for it. His wife was talking in a odd dialect of English usually used to communicate with small children and the mentally handicapped, but doing so with the clerks and the others sitting nearby. Her son was being loud and boisterous and doing everything he could to embarrass the heck out of everybody else. I, for one, think that he should've gotten the pacifier back. He'd been trying to shove it back in his mouth even after dropping it on the floor, but his mom not only took it away but started egging him on to make fun of the dad's stinky hair. When she went to the desk to ask about a bathroom the clerk directed her a block down the street to a Chinese buffet.
I've been to that buffet. They have a hand-printed sign saying "No public restrooms" on the front door.
So I was ten minutes late to the doctor's, but waited another twenty in the room with a recent Reader's Digest. The doctor and I had a brief chat, talked about me needing to take some Niacin and drink red whine or beer, and exercise and whatnot, and then I went on my way.
I came home, grabbed some other stuff and headed out to the BMV to finish out my ordeal. This time I drew the number 09. Two hours and they'd gotten through almost a hundred people, apparently. I thought there might be hope for me yet, and this time I'd come prepared with a portable DVD player and a copy of Neil Simon's play The Sunshine boys set to film and starring George Carlin and Walter Matthau. It was pretty funny, though I think it and me got more than their share of stares in the waiting room.
My license picture's a little odd, too. There was no chair, and when the clerk told me to move to the right evidently I leaned. Oh well, it makes me laugh.
