The Seventh Level of Hell

A couple months ago I lost my driver's license, and was surviving just fine without one. I then came to the realization that in three weeks I'm going to be getting on a plane, and should I like to get past security I had better go get a new license.

I had three goals during this trip:

• Get a new license
• Change my name on the license, as it still showed my maiden name
• Change the address on the license

This seemed doable, and I even left work two hours early to beat the crowd.  I went home and not knowing what all I needed, rustled up my birth certificate, marriage license, and social security card.  I was proud that I was so prepared.

I pulled into the parking lot and giggled to myself at how empty the parking lot was.  I was going to be in and out.  DMV SchmeMV.  I filled out my paperwork, stepped up to the fellow at the information booth and he looked my papers over and says that my marriage license isn't the right one because it doesn't have a seal, and  I would need to go to the Administration building in Provo to get a copy of my marriage license with a seal.  I also needed two letters showing my new address, 'cause I suppose a lot of people are desperate to put a fake address on their driver's license.  DMV fellow said I could just renew my license at the DMV by the Administration building so I wouldn't have to come back.

That took the edge off having to drive to Provo for a seal.

I run home, get two letters with my address (and Gushers, jealous?), and make my merry way to Provo.  I park at the DMV, since that was going to be my last stop, and walk to the Administration building.  I get my seal, and take my hobbit legs right back to the DMV building.  I get in line, and when I get to the lady at that information booth I tell her I'm just renewing my license.  She says I have to go to the DMV in Orem.  I nearly pass out with anger.  "I just came from there, they told me to come here."  This snarky bleepity bleep says "Well, you must not have been specific in what you wanted."   For some reason she hands me a piece of paper with the address to the Orem DMV and circles it.  I just said I came from there, why do I need the address, and does circling it help anything?

With a few choice words on repeat through my mind I drive right back to the DMV in Orem.  That motha lovin' parking lot was full.  I get in line and two, count'em two skinny teenage girls try to butt in line.  The first I simply walk past her as she is bent over doing paperwork, and the second I look at, and she says "Oh, were you still in line?"  Seeing how I didn't move... "Yeah I am, that would have been really exciting for you, but sorry."

One of us thought I was trying to be funny, and it sure wasn't me.

I happened to get the same DMV fellow that helped me earlier.  I say, "Apparently I can't renew my license in Provo."  He just looked at me, "I'm confused."  He didn't need to tell me that, 'cause it was all over his face.  "They must have been new."  I honestly didn't care who was at fault, I was there and I wanted to not be anymore.  I presented my marriage license complete with seal, my proof of address, my SSN card, and my birth certificate.  If he wanted a blood sample, I was prepared to pop a vein.

He deemed everything as it should be, and gave me a number.  Phase two of waiting began.

When I got called I was greeted by the most adorable old man.  He was sweet, and kind, and most importantly did everything that needed to be done, all while teasing me for waiting so long to get my name changed.

"So, how long you been married?"

"Uh, three years."

"Oh, so you finally decided he's a keeper?"

"Yeah, I think I'm going to keep this one."

"No, you had to lose your license to decide to change your name.  Got any kids?"

"Nope."

"Good, at least you didn't have kids before changing your name."

So, thank you old man DMV, I walked out less suicidal.

And the morale of the story is: The DMV is the root of all evil, and old men are incredibly charming.  Mostly.