7th circle of hell

As you may or may not know, I got stupid drunk on Saturday night with my baby sister and lost my drivers license. I had to fly the next morning without an ID, which is not as bad as you would think, and have been sans license since.

I made the trek to the DMV downtown today. It is a small DMV that has nice people that work there and non-florescent lighting. I walked in the doors and a huge yellow sign said "This DMV location permanently closed." I looked in the window and saw Texas finest DPS officers hitting on middle-aged, government employed women wearing capri pants and Crocs.

I got back in my car and drove 20 minutes in the rain to the North Lamar DMV. I pull up, walk in with all my little papers in order and I am immediately hit by the smell of dollar store cologne, enchiladas, feet, and old cooking grease. I humbly take my place at the back of a line about 30 people deep. This is just the check in line. I'm in hell, I'm sure of it.

There is one woman working at this check-in counter. She is turning away folks in this country illegally, she is dealing with people's stupid questions that should have looked at online or on the clearly marked signage around them. She is accomplishing these tasks as slow as humanly possible. She takes a 3 minute and 45 second break to get a cup of water. She is an athlete. She has to refuel.

10 people ahead of me now and said woman declares loudly "It's time fo' my break, I got to get up outta this chair." So she does. And leaves a line now snaking outside of the office and into the tiny, rain soaked parking lot standing there. I feel abandoned.

Two other ladies (one wearing a large Tweety bird t-shirt) take over for her and the line moves. I get my number. I sit in the plastic chairs. I'm sure they are covered in fecal material, HIV, and maybe lice. Everyone around me is speaking Spanish. They are all trying to get a liscense so they can drive to work so they can feed their family so they can do better than they've done before. One white guy looks like he's from Florida. He has a gold marlin medalion around his neck. He looks like he's made lots of bad decisions. I was right. I overhear his conversation about a suspended liscense, his attorney not turning in the right paperwork, and him not having $11 to cover his renewal. These are sad people, at least, they are to me.

One business man is in the corner talking about supply-chain orders and shipping costs. I wonder if he got drunk and lost his license too. A man sits in the corner with his daughter going over the driver's manual. She is nervous. He is proud. This is a big day for them.

There are 2 posters on the main wall. Both say "TEXAS HOLD EM" in fiery looking letters. One of the posters has flaming poker chips in the background. They are public service announcements. They say "Smuggle aliens, smuggle drugs, lose your CPL". I don't know what a CPL is. I think the word aliens is highly offensive. And, I don't understand the TEXAS HOLD EM connection. My career path is solidified once again.

As I think about other slogans for not smuggling human beings, my number gets called. I go up to the counter. A cash only sign makes my heart stop. I don't have $11 to cover my replacement. At least, not in paper form. The lady rolls her eyes at me and tells me she will hold my spot for 10 minutes. In 10 minutes she has to go on her break. I run to the Shell station 2 blocks down. The tiny ATM machine is tucked between a shelf of Slim Jims and a display of Mountain Dew. I chew on my bobby pin as I get my cash. The tiny, sweet Indian store owner comes over and lectures me on the dangers of chewing on things. I could choke. I could die. It could all be over because of this bobby pin and this Shell station and this stupid ATM.

I say that I should be more careful and run out the door, through the rain, and into the DMV. I by-pass the line and I'm back at the counter. She's still there, filing her nails. I have to take another picture. I'm soaking wet from the rain. This day will be with me until 2015. I'll be 30. Vomit.

So, I get my temporary license. I walk out the door and step in a huge oily puddle. I get in my car. I'm thirsty. I need some water. I am an athlete.