Going to the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles) is not ever a fun excursion, however, this time was a little different for me. Maybe it was because it wasn’t Saturday or because I didn’t wait for three hours which is usually the norm.
Friday I rushed to get to the DMV and arrived ten minutes before closing. I found an empty seat and watched as the employees S-L-O-W-L-Y helped one person after the next. At 5:00 p.m. three windows closed immediately even though there was still many people left to see and assist. That aggravated me, but I decided that rather than sit and fume, I would try to find something positive or funny in the experience.
After a very short time, I had a hard time containing my laughter. So I am going to share a few of the thoughts that crossed my mind over a forty-five minute wait at the DMV. I was the next to last person helped, so that in itself was an experience!
Does everybody’s pants stay in their crack all day with the person oblivious to the fact?
Doesn’t all that material in their crack bother them?
How can people not pull all that material out of their crack?!!!?!!!
Obviously, this was quite perplexing to me.
I don’t want my eyes to touch that thing you have to read through, so I’m never going to my license expire. I will always order it over the internet.
Too bad I hadn’t been as vigilant in getting my registration renewed.
That lady is showing waaaaaaaay too much cleavage. Maybe she is going to be the DMV stripper and I’m so far out of the loop that I didn’t know things have changed.
Why doesn’t anyone smile?
I’m going to smile at everyone that looks at me.
Does that man realize he is rearranging his manly stuff in front of a whole room of people?
Why is it that the employees are really slow until it hits 5:00 p.m. and then they rush like crazy to get everything done after 5:00 p.m.?
16 stalls for employees to help us and only 8 working. This is as bad as Walmart.
I wonder if that DMV cop has ever had to pull his gun. It’s not like someone is going to come in and say, “I’m robbing the DMV!”
It is stupid that people aren’t allowed to smile in the driver’s license pictures any more. Is this George Orwell’s 1984?
Wow! I smiled at those two women and they just stared at me.
There are not any sexy men in this whole room. How can that be?!
I miss the eye candy of Texas men.
I wonder how long it has been since the man that just walked past me has taken a bath or used deodorant. He looks clean, but man, oh man, his odor could sink an aircraft carrier.
That girl is so young and yet her boobs are twice as big as mine. What am I doing wrong?!!!
I think I am boob obsessed.
I wonder if anyone is watching me look at her boobs. They probably think I’m perverted.
The last time I was at the DMV, the same cop had to escort a man out of the building because he was screaming and very angry.
I wish someone would make a scene because it is rather uneventful in here today.
That woman’s phone call is quite boring and I know it is her husband. Does she really think that he feels all that inspired to come home to Cruella DeVille? Surely she must know that he had rather cut off his arm than listen to her go on and on about all the chores she has on “his list” for the weekend.
Should I tell the woman on the phone that she is really a witch and doesn’t deserve a husband? Maybe not. I think waiting this long is making me mean.
Maybe I should just lean forward and tell her that everyone can hear her conversation and she isn’t winning any points with the human race today.
Why do they call the numbers out of order? When did they start putting letters in front of the numbers. Maybe the employees really can’t count.
I bet George Clooney never goes to the DMV.
I love the last picture on my post about white decorating stuff.
I’m glad I didn’t go to that employee because she is adding her tape to close for the day and her money doesn’t balance with her computer screen.
That boy is too young to drive. Surely he can’t be 16 years old. Am I really that old now?
I wonder if anyone else in this room still has their Christmas tree up. I have got to take mine down this weekend. The neighbors must think I’m crazy as they drive by and see it lit in my front window.
Am I crazy?
I am not crazy.
What would the DMV cop do if I stood on my chair, waved this number in my hand and said really loudly, “When is it going to be my turn?!”
Okay, that would be crazy.
That man in the brown suit won’t stop staring at every woman’s butt that walks by or stands at the stalls being helped. I wonder if he does the same thing when his wife is with him.
I’m surprised there aren’t any children in this whole room.
I wonder if people will link up to the Woo Us To Your Blog post this week. Should I start putting the words “Woo Us To Your Blog” in the title again?
Do they ever wash down these chairs? I’m glad I’m not wearing my glasses.
How many people have touched that pen today? this week? Ewww…I wish I had brought my purse instead of cramming everything in my pockets because I want to use my own pen.
I wonder what I’m going to make for dinner.
I just want to eat those cookies I baked. The pictures look so good plastered across my blog. Every time I want a cookie I can just go enjoy them in the pictures now.
It’s not as bad as other diseases, so I should be thankful.
Is it ever going to be my turn?
That man’s hair is cut crooked in the back. Do men ever look at the back of their head to check their haircuts?
I wonder if anyone in the room other than me drives 75 minutes to get their hair cut. Thomas, my hairdresser, is so worth the drive. I can’t believe he has been cutting my hair for 11 years.
I can’t wait to get my hair cut this weekend because it is feeling too long and hangs in my eyes.
Her heels have never been pumiced, I’m sure. She should read my blog about the importance of keeping one’s heels looking good. I wish she would move a little so I could see if she is wearing a wedding ring. Oh my gosh, she is wearing a ring! She crawls in the bed next to a man with THOSE raggedy, hideous heels.
I can’t believe it. Not only does she have hideous heels, her knit pants are wadded in her crack. I’m not gong to be able hold this laugh in if she doesn’t hurry up and leave.
The woman has no manners at all. She just reached back, pulled all that material out of crack, shook her legs a little, pulled down her shirt, and did it all while standing in front of a room full of people.
I wonder if anyone else sits in the DMV thinking these crazy things.
Maybe I am crazy.
Yeah, I’m a crazy redhead like Lucille Ball.
Sheesh, now I hear Desi Arnez in my head saying, “You crazy redhead!”
When will it be my turn?!!! I hate waiting.