I have just returned from a glorious three day vacation............ at the DMV.

I’ll be honest with you, I am easily capable of finding a steaming bath of hot dog shit more titillating than what this experiences renders.

First you walk in, a machine that looks like a retarded go-boot issues you a number, with an ‘approximate’ wait time, and you find yourself having to go sit in chairs that were donated by Deering high school seventeen years ago. With all the tax money spewing out into the system, wouldn’t you think they would take some of that tax money and throw in a couple of comfortable chairs? A sofa? Throw in a bar for Christ’s sake! I firmly believe one’s experience would be enhanced through the magic of a few Alabama slammers while registering their shitbox.

And the wait? Puhleeze. I’m not saying it takes a long time to get waited on there, but let’s just say I walked in there a Protestant, and left a devout Catholic, because in that time frame, I was able to read the bible.......twice.

And Why is it that every time I go there, I bring all this information that I have on myself, but I’m always missing that certain piece of paper that makes my whole wait a waste? I have all this info on me, title, registration, report cards, magazine subscriptions, but it’s never enough for Goomba “ I’m going postal soon, so don’t aggravate my Carpal tunnel syndrome” the valium chomping sack of misery that he or she may be.

Also, there is an electronic reader board that hangs there, why doesn’t that tell me what I need?! Instead, there is a wonderful recipe for pound cake. Fuck pound cake! I could care less! Plus, I’m busy finishing the new testament!

As my frustrations reach fever pitch, all the cute screaming babies just add the right touch as my time is up to go speak to Goomba (or Genghis, depending on who is on lunch break) . I approach the counter like David Koresh, exerting the convincing power to walk out victorious, with my registration. Apparently their state funded sedatives are my kryptonite. It does not work. Nor does a patented Shaner smile and a wink. I am now over a barrel, and under the gun. I produce the paperwork.

“Let’s see, Mr. Kinney.......we have your title, your registration, your..............second grade report card? Not applying yourself, hmmm? Do you have you have form XYZ?” (whatever in the hell that is).

I humbly reply , “No”. And then I am hit by the condescending locomotive.

O.K. we are not going to be able to help you today. What you need to do is go down City Hall. Do you know where that is?”

At this point I notice this big pane of bullet proof glass separating me from Genghis. There is a hole in the middle, that isn’t throttle proof, which allows me to shake the shit out of him, until I get my registration!

And why is there bullet proof glass? Who’s gonna rob the DMV? I think it would take one hell of a patient thief, to walk in with a ski mask on and a sawed off shotgun, only to wait for eight hours to rob them of someone’s twenty-two dollar check.

As another famed FACE columnist once said, See you in line.