Disturbia.

I never did mention my DMV story, and why that any person can just utter the word DMV the other person listening already knows it's never going to be simply "So I renewed my license and went home." Having to visit the DMV ultimately commits everyone to some form of hassle, it's never easy. Not even at 8am, which is precisely when I arrived. On time, in line with the people who would become dear fellow hostages for the next 3 hours of our lives. Some of them were already resigned to the fact it was not going to be a prompt transactin and had begun making chit chat early. Others stood with arms crossed, also resigned, but resigned to be angry and put out. Potential scene makers if you will.

I was somewhere in between. Certainly not hoping or anticipating to act out, but on a strict time schedule and had done my proper diligence by being on time and having all my papers in order. All I was doing was renewing my drivers license. Nothing remotely special but a new law in this state has changed up things and from the time I stepped in there was one loud DMV staffer who was herself, already disgruntled with us... a pack of complete strangers who by no means wanted to be there, so chill out lady. Completely out of line sort of person that I silently bit into my lip and hoped wasn't my clerk when it was time because she was in dire need of being reminded that she was earning a wage and her piss fuck attitude affected the line. I did not get said clerk.

Got my mug shot photo and was told to "No, wait please, your face isn't acceptable."

Hm. Pardon?

"That is by far the weirdest thing ever said to me." the photo master, and I knew she meant the photo snapped crooked, but she didn't say that, she opted to say it's wasn't acceptable. Not to her, she cared nothing about me but the machine did. I understood from the start but again, knew I was there for a long time so why not entertain myself. I asked if I should avoid young children and those easily frightened. My humor was lost on her. Such a shame.

I sat down with my Beetlejuice ticket - now serving number ...... - and watched everyone gadgeting and the dull murmur of what I presume an airport waiting area to sound like. I chatted up an older man next to me, because he looked as lacking in gadget business as I was. I told him I liked his boots. I didn't, but had a sneaking suspicion that he was crazy proud of those boots. He had a story about those boots, the boots before those boots and fuck all if he didn't even have a tale about his very first pair of boots. Awesome guy, if you like boots but in fairness I started it. Who knew anyone was chomping at the bit to talk boots. / good times, nice fellow.

The chatter went to instant dead silence of "what do we do!" when a customer lost his shit and began screaming. Bald man, with a long white beard - think ZZ Top and irritated. He'd taken off his prosthetic leg and flopped it onto the clerk's counter in nothing short of a display to humble anyone who had previously been considering a freak out. No sir, this man won the prize for the day, all other unhappy people had no chance of getting his trophy.

The room goes in retrograde silent. Silence so silent that it actually went in reverse and I checked that I was still breathing. The leg man, fists balled at his sides, cheeks more impressively colored with blood than santa, had paused to get air when "Now serving G945" blasts over the silence and I looked at my ticket slow motion muttering "you've got to be fucking kidding."

I stood up, the first person to move since the man's meltdown (security was in route but meanwhile everyone was frozen, not sure what to do) and there I was, with 100 sets of eyes on me, wondering if I was part of his crazy. I held my ticket above my head and tip-toed to the clerk who without a beat said "I don't get paid enough for this." before I even sat down. I replied "I'm not getting paid at ALL for this ok, so let's get on with it."

Turns out he was being denied a handicap placard, and to prove he deserved one was the reason for the leg flopping. I found that out a week later as a patient from my office was there also and coming over to say hello to me before the man's FUCK THIS moment. Small towns, people yap so it took all but a minute before everyone was telling everyone blah blah etc. Interesting conclusion, and I did get my new license but not before having to wear my spectacles. Bah! I tried without them and in the professional conduct I'd met all morning there I was asked "What's wrong with your right eye." Not even asked, it was a statement. I had a bevy of smart ass ways to respond, but just played their game, got my shit and left, somewhat wishing I could have borrowed his peg leg and gone on a well warranted beating spree.

- DM