Adventures at the DMV

No, they don't.  And walking into Mordor would probably be less treacherous.

No, they don’t. And walking into Mordor would probably be less treacherous.

I went to get a Colorado driver’s license this morning.  My visit lasted over two hours.  Yes, over TWO hours.  And involved flies and maybe zombies.  All the better since I already possess a CO driver’s license.  However, since I chose to not only join in a civil union with my partner of many years, but also change my name – a decision I might have questioned this morning – I have to obtain many new things.

The following is a text conversation with the person who is partly responsible for my morning fun and who, I don’t believe, showed nearly enough sympathy:

Me: Around 100 people here. I had to get a number when I came in.  Mine is G801.   They’re calling people who have combinations starting with D, L, M and N to 5 or 6 different windows.

Jodi: So, you probably won’t be long.

Me: How do you know that?  Oh, and they just called a T.

Jodi: That means they could call G anytime.

Me: Or three hours from now. How do I know where I am in this process?   I’m supposed to have some idea on the length of my wait so I can sit and brood, accordingly. Now, there’s no way to know.  It’s kind of sadistic.

Jodi: That’s the fun.

Me: You and I have very different definitions of fun.  Telling.


Me: They called my number and I went to what is apparently one of many windows in this process.  I gave her my Social Security letter thing showing my name change and the new Social Security card with the new name. She told me I must have the civil union license because “all this shows is that you went to the Social Security office.”  WTH?  It’s a dated form showing my name change. It’s not a certificate of attendance indicating I graced the Social Security office with my presence recently.

Jodi: Well, I’m sure the SS office thought it was memorable.  So, do you have the license?

Me: Out in my car. I had to go get it and I’ve been bumped back in the line, though she says not to the end. I’m not sure how I’d know that since they’re calling Bs and various other random letters in the alphabet.

Jodi: Sorry.

Me: Also, now there are flies.  Lots of them.

Jodi: Flies?

Me: Yes, flies.  And even more people.  And flies.  I feel like the Four Horsemen might come in next.

Jodi: I believe they follow locusts.

Me: So maybe zombies instead. Yeah, that’s it, zombies. The problem is in this crowd, I might not be able to pick them out until they are literally trying to eat my brain.

Jodi: Well be careful.

Me: You’re a lot of help. I’m sitting here under threat of zombies while swatting away flies that likely carry West Nile just so I can share your last name.

Jodi: Flies don’t carry West Nile.

Me: You haven’t seen these flies. They’re huge, likely some kind of mutant species that totally carry West Nile.

Jodi: They would have to draw blood to do that. I guess they might pass something to you if you ate them.  Don’t eat them.

Me: Nice.


Me: Another window down and back to waiting. They’re calling by name now – first name, which I didn’t know until someone whose first name is the same as my last was called. I think there must be mental endurance experiments going on here on the unknowing, innocent subjects who walk through the door. I’m at the  mutant fly and possible zombie stage.

Jodi: Or maybe someone croaked while waiting and that brought the flies.

Me: I’m not at all clear why I’m here trying to share your name.


I finally escaped – though you don’t get to see the picture they take of you at the end of that harried experience.  Instead, you get that little surprise in the mail within the next 30 days.  Yay.

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