Victory, snatched from the jaws of Defeat

Every New Yorker has a story from the Department of Motor Vehicles. Most of them are stories of woe and pain, anger and misery. Here is my humble addition to the oveure:

The process begins by scrutinizing the website to find out what I need to get a license and register my car. After living in NYC for over a year and a half, it seems that the time has come to admit to God, the Universe and the DMV that I am, indeed, a New Yorker.

Ingredients:
1 out of state license
6 "points" of identification- Passport= 4 points, Credit card=1 point, Union card= 1 point.
1 title for Silver Saturn
1 proof of current insurance
1 proof of release of Lien from bank.
1 invoice for sale of the car (to ensure that I paid my sales tax)
1 credit card (to pay for it all)

I arrive at about 10 a.m. There is a line and it takes about 20 minutes to get through it. I am amused and entertained by the security guard who is chatting up two young ladies. At first he is flirting, but then he starts to tell them that he can send them to the back of the line or prevent them from getting their license. Apparently getting through the line for these girls involves giving out their digits. An employee comes up to the front of the line and yells "All those that are here for a LEARNER'S PERMIT TEST. COME TO ROOM 2!!!!" The girls look relieved as they file past the security guard.

I finally arrive in front of a nice woman. She tells me that the office now requires a Social Security card for every transaction involving an out-of-state license. I protest that I have 6 points of identification. "No good, hon. It's required because of terrorism threats." I roll my eyes and gather up my paperwork to leave. "Now wait a minute, hon. Let me make sure you have everything else that you need." She pauses and leafs through all my documents. "Yep. Just grab that SS Card and you'll be good to go."

About 20 minutes later I return with my Social Security card. The line has grown and stopped moving entirely. It is so big that it stretches out of the office and into the Atlantic Terminal Mall, where it stops, pauses to allow people to walk through, and restarts off to the side. I begin my wait at the far end of the second line. Several more announcements about Learner's Permit Tests happen and as they announcement are passed along down the line, I move forward and into the DMV proper. Two hours later, a short Hispanic woman gives up. "I'm not waiting in this fucking line any more." She pushes her way under the two dividers and she stakes a place behind about three people from the front. She has just cut in front of about 25 people. No one says a word. She stands and looks at everyone with a defiantly homicidal look in her eye. Silence from the crowd.

Another half hour passes I make it to the friendly woman again. "Hon! You're back! Do you have that Social Security Card?" She goes through every one of my documents one more time. "Here's a number, take a seat." I look at the slip of paper. Estimated wait: 29 minutes. I sit. 45 minutes later, I my number appears on an electric billboard. I approach the desk and I'm faced with a new person. She isn't as friendly. She looks at me suspiciously and then carefully looks at every piece of documentation. "I guess we can do BOTH your license and your registration. We don't usually do registrations here. You're going to ruin someone's day." My mood gets slightly darker.

"Oh, come on, baby... smile a little. You look like you're dead." I finally crack a smile. I come back and look at the monitor. It's me smiling back. "I threw out the other pictures. They were terrible. You looked like you were dead, baby. Now take this slip and wait for your number. Oh wait, let me check those documents again." She pauses and looks over every piece of paper that I have. "Yeah, baby, you're ok. Take a seat." Approximate wait time: 29 minutes.

One hour later: "Honey, here's your temporary license... wait... you want to register your car?" She gets a glint in here eye. I'm at a third woman now. She is wearing two sets of glasses at the same time and slouches to see her monitor. "Child, I HATE doing registrations." She picks up my documentation. She goes through it once. She starts to enter things into the computer. "Wait... this insurance form doesn't have your name on it. Just Kitty's name. Where is she? Can I see her license?" I tell her that my wife paid for the insurance. I'm on it also, but this was just her card. Three times, people checked my pape... "Child, I don't care how many people checked your paperwork. Without your name on the insurance, it don't matter!" I get a pit in my stomach.

"Jesus luuuuuvs me today!" She cackles. "He knows I hate those registrations and God surely wouldn't make me do one today!" She gets up off her stool, leans in and laughs in my face, "Here are your documents, and have a nice day. I hope I don't call you when you come back." I'm shocked into silence. "Child, take this." She hands me a piece of green paper. "You won't have to wait in line if you come back today." She leans in again, laughs in my face again, praises Jesus and rings for the next customer.

I stumble out of the office in a stupor. It is now 2:45. How can I get this fixed by 4, when the DMV closes?

I immediately call my insurance company and explain the situation. A very helpful woman with a British accent who says she is in Tampa answers. She sympathizes, adds my name to the card and stays on the line as I go back to the DMV. I cut directly to the front of the line.

"Do you have a fax machine where I can have my insurance sent?" I ask. "We don't do that here. You can go down the hall to the insurance company and ask to borrow their fax." The Brit is still waiting on my cell phone.

I run down the hall. "Can I receive a fax on your machine?"

A fat man sitting at his desk eating Sesame Chicken points to a sign behind me. $3 for the first page, $1 for each additional page. I have a silent heart attack and read the number to the Brit. 10 minutes later, $9 poorer and a little bit happier, I race down the hall and back to the DMV.

I cut the line. I hear people howling with rage behind me as I run up to the information desk. "Hon, what are YOU doing back here?" I hand her the papers. "Oh, I didn't notice that your wife's name was on the original paperwork. Silly me!" She pauses and hands me a number." Take a seat. Someone should help you in 29 minutes."

I thank my British friend from Progressive and tell her that she was the highlight of my day. I take my seat. When my number gets called, it 3:30. Not too shabby, I think I only waited for 40 minutes. The woman behind the desk rolls her eyes and looks at my documents. "Well, do you want to have Kitty on your title? Because she needs to be here and I really can't process..."

"NO! I just have her on my insurance so that she can drive the car. It's MY car, it stays in MY name!"

"Well, I don't know about that..." she trails off, hoping that I will take the hint that she doesn't want to do my registration.

"Tough," I reply. "I've been through the line twice and you are the fifth person that I've seen today. You will now register this car to me." I lower my voice and give her my best Jedi mind trick. "I need to get this car registered NOW."

She takes my credit card and brings out two license plates. She fills in the paperwork and loads her printer with the stickers for my windshield. Nothing happens. "Well," she says, "it looks like my printer just broke. I guess I'd better call the manager. Or maybe tech support." She looks around, hoping that I might just give up in disgust. I stand my ground.

Tech support ambles over with a new toner cartridge. He replaces it and starts to click on things with the mouse. Nothing happens. "Uh... did you... uh... try... uh... rebooting?"

Have you seen the Matrix? Do you know about bullet time? Everything slows down and you can see individual bullets flying through the air. I can see each word coming out of their mouths. I dodge left and right, trying to make sure that I get to my goal of those license plates. All of a sudden, things speed back up. I don't know what happened, but she is handing me the plates and paper work.

"Sorry about the delay. Your first credit card transaction may or may not have gone through. If it went through twice, call your credit card company and then come back here to get the charges reversed."

She gives an evil chuckle.