I recently had a birthday and this is one of those years when I can't renew my driver's license by mail and/or Internet. So I went into the Department of Motor Vehicles the other day to get a new license and an anecdote. I always seem to get an anecdote there along with my license. I got one in 2008 and another one in 2018. Here is this year's.
I went to the D.M.V. office where the wait, even with an appointment, turned out to be as long as the Oscars. I don't mean the televised ceremony a couple nights ago. I mean the entire history of that award.
I was lulled into the false hope for a speedy in-and-out because they started me through the process about twenty seconds after I walked in…but then there was a long wait for the next step, then a longer wait for the one after that and the longest wait after that. Before I was halfway to having my photo taken, I began to understand why people become Sovereign Citizens and foolishly argue that you don't need a driver's license to operate a motor vehicle.
The guy who gave me the vision test seemed skeptical that I, a person of 71 years, didn't use eyeglasses or contacts for the exam but I aced it. I only missed one question on the written test…something about the rules when someone under the drinking age transports liquor in his or her vehicle. It was not information I would ever have a reason to know.
While waiting in line for that last test, I got my anecdote. The line put us right near the vision testing area and there I witnessed a "Karen." This, as you probably know, is a recently-invented descriptor for a person — usually female — who creates a big public spectacle insisting on all sorts of entitlement and privilege. I used to think the name was unfortunate because I've known some ladies named Karen who were as nice as nice could be.
But from what I overheard, this "Karen" was actually named Karen. In fact, if they didn't name the descriptor for her, they should have. The line to have your photo taken had about a dozen people in it. When told she should join the line, she marched to the front of it and tried to join it there. Someone told her to go to the end of it but she announced — as if saying this would entitle her to do what she did — "I don't wait in lines!"
A roving D.M.V. employee told her that if she wanted to get her photo taken — and therefore get her license — she was going to have to wait in this one. They would not take it until she did. After running through a list of words that get bleeped on most TV shows, she grudgingly trudged to the end of the line, pulled out her cell phone and began texting someone angrily.
That line moved quickly. I was still in mine when I saw her reach the camera station, complaining all the while quite loudly about how she couldn't wait to get the hell out of this place. All of us watching her felt the same way but we didn't feel the need to say it and with such volume. They took her photo and then there was some sort of squabble because she demanded to see it and to have it redone to her liking.
I did not hear how that was resolved but it was resolved and she took her place in the line for the written test, about three folks behind me. We all waited a long time to go into a little room where we would each take our written test standing at one of several little computer work stations. As rotten luck would have it, a whole bunch of us in line were finally called in at the same time and she wound up at the station next to me.
I was taking my test. She was taking her test. You're not supposed to get help from notes or books or anyone else but she turned to me and asked out loud, "What the [f-word] is the level of blood that means you're too drunk to drive?" and you would have been proud of me. I did not reply, "I don't know but whatever it is, you're over it!" I said nothing as another D.M.V. staffer scurried over to her and told her politely that she was not allowed to ask for help. (In case you're interested, the answer is that's it's illegal to drive if you're over 21 and your Blood Alcohol Concentration is 0.08% or higher. I looked that up online before I went in for my test.)
She resumed answering the questions, spending three seconds on each one, not stopping to carefully read each question and consider each multiple-choice. So it was not surprising that the screen suddenly told her she'd failed and would have to wait two minutes to take another test. She however announced she was not waiting and stormed from the room.
Soon after, I passed my test. I proceeded to the desk where a clerk would process my final paperwork and give me my temp license, good until the real one shows up in my mail. I asked said clerk, "Does that happen often?" and she knew I was asking about Karen and her grand exit.
The clerk sighed and said, "Once or twice a day. Where they get real upset is when they realize that instead of waiting the two minutes to take another test, they have to come back and start the whole process all over again from the top."