I went to the DMV, or tag agency, or whatever they call it down here. I checked in, was given a number, and was directed to the waiting area. I glanced at the paper with my number on it. Number 852. I looked up at the screen which displayed the current number being served. Number 2. I looked back at the number in my hand. I blinked a few times. I looked up again. Then I resigned myself to
dying right there at the DMV sitting there for a long time.
I took a seat and settled back into the hard, plastic chair to get as comfy as possible. And then I heard it. The unmistakable sound of flatulence. Then again. And again. I looked toward the offending sound and saw a little boy playing with an iPod. There must have been some sort of fart app on the iPod because it sounded like the thing was passing gas nonstop. For TWENTY minutes. Twenty minutes may not seem like a long time. Until you’re sitting at the DMV listening to farting.
At some point, I’m not even sure when, the boy stopped playing with the fart app and switched to barnyard animals. Moooooo, oink oink oink, hee haw, hee haw, hee haw, neigh! I’m really unsure if that was an improvement or not.
An hour later, when they were on number 15, I decided I was going to pass out from dehydration if I didn’t get something to drink. I’ve never had so much water as I have since moving here. It seems like I always have sweat dripping down my face. Attractive, I know. Anyway, since there was enough time to drive back to Chicago, get a nice glass of Lake Michigan water, and make it back before they got to number 852, I got up and left. I walked around the deserted strip mall, looking for some sort of restaurant where I could get some pop or water or something. I found a grocery store, went in and bought a case of water. Then I walked back to the DMV, lugging my purchase with me.
Apparently people don’t generally walk into the DMV carrying a case of water because everyone there stopped what they were doing, and as if on cue, turned and stared at me. I smiled and said, “I’m really thirsty! Actually, I got water for all you guys! Who wants a bottle of water? Water anyone? C’mon, free water! It’s a million degrees outside! Who wouldn’t like a bottle of water?”
How does that scripture go that if you give a cup of water to one because he is a disciple, you will certainly not lose your reward. Yeah, well, what do you do if no one will accept a drink from you? They continued to stare at the freak show that was me. Not one single person accepted a bottle of water. I gave up and sat down with my 2 dozen bottles of water and prayed that time would accelerate.
To make a long story short, I was finally called, the woman who helped me was very nice and friendly, however because of a misunderstanding, I wasn’t able to get my license. I need a copy of my marriage certificate in order to prove that I am who I am since my birth certificate has my maiden name on in. I thought my judgement for divorce would work since it contained both my names. She said it was fine, but she thought I was asking if I could get a license in my maiden name. Anyway…..
And I wasn’t able to get my plates because they have to go outside and check the VIN on the vehicle and they don’t do that in the rain. Of course, it was raining by the time it was my turn because it rains every stinking day in Florida. The heat, the rain, the cockroaches, lizards, frogs, and locusts of biblical proportions have me convinced I’ve actually moved to the Amazonian rainforest and not the theme park capital of the world. Anyway, after two hours, I left with nothing.
I did, however, learn that there isn’t driver’s ed down here. No driver’s ed! Seriously, teens just have to take a short online drug and alcohol class and quiz and then they can get their permit. Mom and Dad teach the teen to drive and after putting in 50 hours of driving practice, they can get their license. I think I’ve determined why my car insurance went up by $800 a year when I moved here.
Austin still doesn’t really care about driving, but Savannah took the class immediately and is begging me take her to get her permit. In fact, tonight, she gave me this . . .
Anyone want to teach her to drive? Because I’m terrified to do it! I hate being the passenger when a seasoned driver is behind the wheel. But I truly can’t stomach the idea of sitting in a giant van being driven by someone who is just learning. Especially if that someone has gotten her driving ideas from SpongeBob.
You are now getting sleepy. Very, very sleepy. When you awake, you will have an irresistible urge to buy my book here.
Read how NOT to use social media here. In case you’re wondering, announcing to the world that you’re leaving your wife for your mistress via Twitter is on the list.