Listen.  I know that writing about having a hard time at the DMV is such worn territory that Dave Barry would call it hack and Garrison Keillor would scoff at it as “old hat”.  DMV jokes are so old that the government has changed the name of the department in various states to try to escape the stigma (it’s Driver and Vehicle Services in MN).  The list of worn out jokes about the DMV is longer than the actual lines at the DMV (ba-zing!).  

That being said, here’s a story about my recent experience at the DMV.  

I needed a passport but before I could get a passport I needed to take care of my drivers license.  It was revoked last summer due to a traffic stop where I didn’t have proof of insurance on me.  I never really took care of it because I lost the car shortly thereafter and I firmly believe that if you ignore a problem long enough, it will go away.  

Of course, time and again ignored problems have not gone away but that’s the funny thing about faith. You don’t need proof, you just believe.  

I called the DVS phone number I found on the state’s website on Friday, expecting a half an hour wait followed by a bitter exchange with some disgruntled employee because that’s what happens when you call the government, right?  Wrong.  The hold time was less than two minutes and I got a very helpful rep who answered all my questions.  I actually forgot to ask one question and had to call in a second time.  One minute on hold and a different but equally helpful rep.  All I had to do was fax in my proof of insurance that day and I could go down to a service center on Monday to reinstate my DL, get a birth cert. and apply for my passport.  One stop shopping!  The DMV is certainly sounding a lot more convenient than every shitty comedian has made them out to be.  

Day 1:

I headed to the Hennepin County Service Center off of Lake and Chicago (because it was close to home, I totally didn’t drive there because my license wan’t valid.  Yeah.  That’s it) on Monday, ready to spew money at the government so they could give me pieces of paper and plastic that said I was born and could drive and fly out of the country.  While waiting I see a sign that reads “Due to some state regulation bullshit (I’m paraphrasing) we no longer accept Visa” so I run to the nearest ATM to withdraw some cash hoping my number won’t be called while I’m gone.  After a short wait and paying a $30 fee, my license was valid again.  No more getting turned away at bars with bouncers who take their jobs way too seriously (like after my license expires I magically turn underage again JUST LET ME IN TO DRINK).  I asked to apply for a passport and the lady behind the counter told me that they didn’t do that anymore and if I wanted to get a passport I’d have to go to the downtown service center.  

Day 2:

I head to the downtown service center to get my birth certificate (forgot to take care of that at midtown) and passport.  I’m able to get my birth certificate no problem but the State Department only takes checks for passport applications.  I don’t have my checkbook on me because it’s not 1963.  If my landlord accepted debit cards I wouldn’t even need a checkbook.  I’m given a passport application and leave a little annoyed but relieved that tomorrow will be the last time I have to come back and this will be taken care of.  

Day 3:  

I arrived at the downtown service center with a folder containing my birth certificate, a checkbook, passport photos, my drivers license and papers and a passport application.  I made sure the application was filled out in black ink and answered all questions including my SS#, place of birth, my spouse’s age and place of birth, both of my parent’s dates and cities of birth, my destination, date and duration of trip.  At this point I’m seriously considering just calling INS with an anonymous tip that Bill Young is an illegal immigrant from Mexico.  Less paperwork and free airfare.  I call the US embassy when I want to go home and we all have a good laugh over the mix up.  

I get my number (D239) and sit down and wait for it to get called.  20 minutes go by and no such luck.  No “D” numbers are even being called but other numbers are called like crazy.  When I notice that people seem to be skipping ahead of me in line I go to the receptionist and ask if there’s a problem.  She seemed annoyed by me and asked if I had a number and I showed her the slip.  I told her I already had my photos if that would speed things up.  She told me that it wouldn’t make a difference and returned her gaze back to her computer, indicating she was done with me. 

After a half hour of playing the shitty trivia on the waiting room TVs which consisted of three questions on a loop, I went back to the receptionist desk and another, more helpful person was there.  She apologized and explained that only certain employees can process passports and one was working on a request for a mother and her three kids.  I showed her my number and she said there were still two people ahead of me on top of the family of four currently being helped.  Suppressing the rage that was slowly building in me with the realization that I’ll have to come back a fourth time to take care of this, I thanked her but said I had to leave now and asked her to remove my number from the queue.  

Right at that moment a manager ran to the desk and apologized for the wait.  He said he and another rep were going to start processing passport requests and called out the next numbers in line.  D237, 238 and 240.  The receptionist gave an awkward smile and said to me “Sorry, I just took your number out of the queue like you asked.”  I did what rational person would do in this situation.  I broke down and laughed like a maniac.  “30 seconds!  If you had been here 30 seconds earlier!” I screamed, dribbles of spit running down my mouth as my eye twitched.  The manager, visibly concerned by my actions, quickly pulled out a piece of paper and scrawled some instructions on it.  He gave it to me and said that I could come back the next day and receive priority service for my trouble.  

So today’s the day I successfully apply for my passport unless the office is overrun with wild dogs or there’s a fucking gas leak or something.  

Seriously.  There’s gotta be an easier way to smuggle heroin.