I'm sorry this post is late! Grad student life has me in its clutches and doesn't want to let go! Despite being buried in countless pages of reading and long papers, I do have this little adventure for all of you.
I have officially decided that the DMV is where dreams go to be crushed like a Hotwheels car under the foot of the Terminator. Florescent lights, long lines, chairs of questionable origin, the DMV is what I imagine dying and getting stuck in Limbo is probably like.
In varying DMV lines I've faced the man of incredible flatulence, the woman who brought not one, not two, but three yapping dogs and the guy who kept going outside to make sure his car hadn't caught fire, "I fixed it, but I ain't sure I fixed it right..."
The individual who takes the DMV gold straightjacket, though, graced those waiting with her presence at my most recent visit. The waiting room was crowded that day, twenty to thirty people were crammed in the narrow waiting area like that box of Crayola crayons that Jimmy decided to try and get one extra crayon into. Stupid Jimmy.
I had been sitting on a bench next to another lady who shared my "does not want to be here" expression for about three minutes when she walked in. Well, technically she more pushed her way through the door ramming into an elderly gentleman who was about to take a number so she could grab a number first.
With bits of her oozing from underneath a shirt that was a size or four too small, she wandered up to the bench. Guessing that she wanted to take a seat, I began to scoot over as did the girl next to me in the opposite direction. I only had a chance to scooch myself about a centimeter though before the woman said, "Well, it would be NICE if someone were willing to move over for me instead of just sitting there like dumb cows!"
The other girl and I looked at each other, I rolled my eyes and we continued our journey to make room for our vulgar new bench mate. When we had scooted far enough for her largess, which meant I was nearly sitting in the next person's lap, she thudded herself down and said, "SeeEee? That wasn't so hard now was it?"
Everyone on the long bench looked at her with a similar expression of confusion and disgust as she then scratched her armpit, very close to the other girl's face, and burped.
After a couple of minutes, she suddenly started digging around in her purse, a monstrous Nascar Racing decorated affair with a giant Confederate flag pin on it. After elbowing me several times in her frantic search for whatever she was hunting for, she let out a triumphant little grunt and pulled out a toothbrush and toothpaste.
I then watched in horror as she put the toothpaste on the toothbrush, and with great angsty energy, shoved the toothbrush in her mouth. Now she hadn't just caught the attention of the others clustered on the bench, but a majority of those trapped in the lobby as well as the DMV employees. Everyone sat in abject horror for a second as she brushed and slurped her way along, obviously swallowing the toothpaste as she went.
After a few shocked seconds I decided that I did not want my front row seat to the 'Dental Hygiene Show' and got up to go lean against a wall as far away as possible. As I made my retreat the woman gurgled out, "Whore!" behind me.
Funny, she was number 47, but it seems while I was filling out my paperwork, the DMV counter attendants somehow managed to go from 46 directly on to 48. Whoopsie-doodle!
So what lessons from this can be printed on our experience registrations?
1. Peoples' definitions of the word "whore" seem to be vastly different. I always thought it was a derogatory term for someone who likes to sleep with a lot of people. Apparently I'm wrong, it is a term for someone who doesn't wish to be a up-close-and-personal participant in someone else's dental care.
2. You can in fact be so awful that not even DMV employees will want to talk to you.
For more fun adventures don't forget to check out my stuff on Facebook and Twitter (@AllisonHawn) and check out my books here!
