Once again, The Man demanded that I head over to the DMV and renew Rhonda the Honda's registration. My girl's now street legal, but needless to say, it was an ordeal. No one sane would ever darken the doorway of the San Francisco DMV, because you have to step over dead bodies to even check in. Obviously, I do my shit in Marin.
The check-in table is manned by a highly competent older gentleman, however it's set up right at the rainy front door with a rag tine line of people queing up and making sure no one was cutting. Once I got to the front, I announced I had a registration renewal and was given number B104. I took a plastic seat and watched the monitors, which let me know that currently, B097 was being helped at Window 6.
Okay, 7 people in front of me.
An older guy kept making wacky faces at me and to my immense dismay, came and sat right next to me, ignoring protocol and refusing to leave the required empty buffer seat.
"What number are you?"
"Oh, I'm B104."
My new friend was G177 and apparently, the G people have to take driving tests. He's just turned 70, thus requiring the government to confirm his ability to operate motor vehicles.
"Well, good luck." I offered.
"Hey, you're supposed to tell me I don't look 70!"
Oh god. This is the DMV, sir. This is not the kinda place you wanna make friends.
He then began to openly laugh at the scraggly looking gentleman at Window 4, directly in front of us who did not have the $52 required for whatever transaction he was trying to complete.
A computerized voice, sounding much like a phone sex opperator announced, "B102 can now be served at Window 12."
2 more to go. But my friend wasn't shutting up. He kept itching his knit cap and trying to look at my paperwork. Not that I had anything to hide, but I'm not wild about this guy knowing my home address.
"B103!" He shouted. "One more for you to go and that's just great because I'm right behind you! Boy, I sure like this system."
Finally it was my turn across the room at Window 17.
"Good luck with your test." I smiled and raced away.
My new friend said nothing. He just made another wacky face at me.
I paid my $119 and for my "09" sticker within 3 minutes, packing up my handbag and making my way to the front door. But of course, I had to pass my new BFF.
I got another face full of wacky before he shouted, "Goodbye Elizabeth!"
Oh great. This grandpa totally knows where I live...