D
Darkside Hazuki
Guest
Darkside Hazuki's trip to... THE DMV!
Hello, children. I'm your host, Darkside Hazuki, and a few days ago, I took a trip to one of the friendliest places on this entire planet: the Ari(d)zona Motor Vehicle Division, otherwise known as the DMV, or hell's posterior in some rural areas of the world. It proved to be very informative and educational, so let's take a look back at the experience and reminisce, and see if we can't learn anything in the process!
Based on both my research and in-the-field analysis readings, it takes thirty freaking minutes to drive out to the DMV. There is no exception to this rule, especially when you are already pressed for time in the day and have other appointments to attend. For reasons of which I am not yet aware, the DMV is placed precariously on the edge of town, and it was noticable that there was this odd aura around the property that made it so not even the coyotes (or any sort of plant life for that matter) would venture near it. It might have been the absurdly ridiculous and unimaginative -- excuse me, children -- unique way in which the DMV designed their roadways and parking lot, which makes the whole freaking block look like a big never-ending game of Crazy Taxi, but let's assume that it must be the pesticides.
Once we go into the actual building and maneuver our way past at least three senior citizens wearing cowboy hats, we approach the counter and discover that we must fill out a sheet with our information on it. That's not too hard, right? Well, they're nice enough to not have any pens available, so you'll need to go scrounging around somewhere for one, and when you do find one, you'll discover it's nearly devoid of ink and you have to shake it once every five seconds while wondering when the hell they're going to invent pens that shoot laser ink out of their tips or something. Get that over with, and it's back to the counter to get your -- wait for it -- TICKET NUMBER!
This is the funnest part of the day, kids. Find a seat in the needlessly large waiting room near all the "helper" booths, and take a gander at that number. "B036," huh? We'll be out of here in no time!
Them: "... ... ... Now serving-- N021."
Me: "... :getlost: "
Them: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- N022."
Me: "... ... ... :ermm: "
Them: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- K025."
Me: "...
"
Them: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- L033."
Me: "... ... ... x_x "
Them: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- A014."
Me: "... ... ...
"
Nazi Germany: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- B033."
Me: "
!"
Them: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- B034."
Me: "
"
Them: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- B035."
Me: ":w00t: "
Them: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- D028."
Me: ":noexpression: :noexpression: :noexpression: ...:realmad: ... :'( "
Once we're past this part of our little visit by either sticking it out for sixty-some years or some random act of God, we move on to the next phase: Getting customer service. This is one of the most complicated parts of our venture. Let's observe the situation, and see if we can't use this information for the better. Remember to take notes.
Them: "Hi."
Me: "Hi. I need a new driver's license."
Them: "Okay, I'll need to see two forms of identification."
So far so good, correct? Fast forward more than ten minutes, complete with a fun-filled and very boring/awkward silence, accompanied by the joyful tappity-tappity-tap-tap of fingers against keyboard keys.
Them: "Okay, here's your I.D. back; take this over to the other side of the building behind the license counter and they'll help you."
Me: "... ... ... Thank you."
Okay, let's mosey on over there, making sure to slither one's way past the rapidly-growing crowd situated at the front counter where we first made landing, if we can at all given the space they allowed when they built the stupid building. Once we make it there, if we're all in one piece, head over to where you were told to go and let's get this over with!
Me: "Hi, I need a new driver's license."
Them: "Oh... I don't know how to do that... Hold on."
Me: "..."
Them: "Hi, can I help you?"
Me: "Yes, I need a new driver's license."
Them: "Oh... um, hang on for a minute."
Me: "... ... ..."
Them: "... Have you been helped?"
Me: "... ... ... ... ... *Begins shaking violently.*"
As you can see here, moments before I rest my forehead against the counter at a velocity comparable to Nolan Ryan's fastball, what did we witness from customer service? If you said "nothing whatsoever," you are correct! And what did we witness from the people waiting? Yes, that's right, that the rest of the customers were coming up behind me to wait in the spot that I was told to wait in, because apparently there's something either special about me and the cologne I'm using today, or they think I'm cheating by moving up to where I go to get waited on. Fast forward another ten minutes, subtract thirty dollars from your wallet or purse, and voila! You have attained what you set out to obtain.
While we're leaving the premises and nearly getting killed because the stupid roadways are still a maze and you've got nutjobs in cars flying at you from ten different directions, let's think about what we've learned. And that is: Don't plan a trip to the DMV unless you have a lot of time, patience, rationality, and sanity at your disposal. Thanks for listening and tune in next time when Darkside Hazuki takes a trip to the dentist to get some fillings and a tooth pulled.
Hello, children. I'm your host, Darkside Hazuki, and a few days ago, I took a trip to one of the friendliest places on this entire planet: the Ari(d)zona Motor Vehicle Division, otherwise known as the DMV, or hell's posterior in some rural areas of the world. It proved to be very informative and educational, so let's take a look back at the experience and reminisce, and see if we can't learn anything in the process!
Based on both my research and in-the-field analysis readings, it takes thirty freaking minutes to drive out to the DMV. There is no exception to this rule, especially when you are already pressed for time in the day and have other appointments to attend. For reasons of which I am not yet aware, the DMV is placed precariously on the edge of town, and it was noticable that there was this odd aura around the property that made it so not even the coyotes (or any sort of plant life for that matter) would venture near it. It might have been the absurdly ridiculous and unimaginative -- excuse me, children -- unique way in which the DMV designed their roadways and parking lot, which makes the whole freaking block look like a big never-ending game of Crazy Taxi, but let's assume that it must be the pesticides.
Once we go into the actual building and maneuver our way past at least three senior citizens wearing cowboy hats, we approach the counter and discover that we must fill out a sheet with our information on it. That's not too hard, right? Well, they're nice enough to not have any pens available, so you'll need to go scrounging around somewhere for one, and when you do find one, you'll discover it's nearly devoid of ink and you have to shake it once every five seconds while wondering when the hell they're going to invent pens that shoot laser ink out of their tips or something. Get that over with, and it's back to the counter to get your -- wait for it -- TICKET NUMBER!
This is the funnest part of the day, kids. Find a seat in the needlessly large waiting room near all the "helper" booths, and take a gander at that number. "B036," huh? We'll be out of here in no time!
Them: "... ... ... Now serving-- N021."
Me: "... :getlost: "
Them: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- N022."
Me: "... ... ... :ermm: "
Them: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- K025."
Me: "...
"Them: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- L033."
Me: "... ... ... x_x "
Them: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- A014."
Me: "... ... ...
"Nazi Germany: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- B033."
Me: "
!"Them: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- B034."
Me: "
"Them: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- B035."
Me: ":w00t: "
Them: "... ... ... ... ... Now serving-- D028."
Me: ":noexpression: :noexpression: :noexpression: ...:realmad: ... :'( "
Once we're past this part of our little visit by either sticking it out for sixty-some years or some random act of God, we move on to the next phase: Getting customer service. This is one of the most complicated parts of our venture. Let's observe the situation, and see if we can't use this information for the better. Remember to take notes.
Them: "Hi."
Me: "Hi. I need a new driver's license."
Them: "Okay, I'll need to see two forms of identification."
So far so good, correct? Fast forward more than ten minutes, complete with a fun-filled and very boring/awkward silence, accompanied by the joyful tappity-tappity-tap-tap of fingers against keyboard keys.
Them: "Okay, here's your I.D. back; take this over to the other side of the building behind the license counter and they'll help you."
Me: "... ... ... Thank you."
Okay, let's mosey on over there, making sure to slither one's way past the rapidly-growing crowd situated at the front counter where we first made landing, if we can at all given the space they allowed when they built the stupid building. Once we make it there, if we're all in one piece, head over to where you were told to go and let's get this over with!
Me: "Hi, I need a new driver's license."
Them: "Oh... I don't know how to do that... Hold on."
Me: "..."
Them: "Hi, can I help you?"
Me: "Yes, I need a new driver's license."
Them: "Oh... um, hang on for a minute."
Me: "... ... ..."
Them: "... Have you been helped?"
Me: "... ... ... ... ... *Begins shaking violently.*"
As you can see here, moments before I rest my forehead against the counter at a velocity comparable to Nolan Ryan's fastball, what did we witness from customer service? If you said "nothing whatsoever," you are correct! And what did we witness from the people waiting? Yes, that's right, that the rest of the customers were coming up behind me to wait in the spot that I was told to wait in, because apparently there's something either special about me and the cologne I'm using today, or they think I'm cheating by moving up to where I go to get waited on. Fast forward another ten minutes, subtract thirty dollars from your wallet or purse, and voila! You have attained what you set out to obtain.
While we're leaving the premises and nearly getting killed because the stupid roadways are still a maze and you've got nutjobs in cars flying at you from ten different directions, let's think about what we've learned. And that is: Don't plan a trip to the DMV unless you have a lot of time, patience, rationality, and sanity at your disposal. Thanks for listening and tune in next time when Darkside Hazuki takes a trip to the dentist to get some fillings and a tooth pulled.
