Boone BMV

I can't help myself. This is just too much . . .

Today, I decided it'd be a good time for me to waltz over to the BMV to get the title transferred on the Geo. I was under the assumption that we had plenty of time to do this, and I was even wondering if it was even worth it to do so at all.

When I came through the door, I received a number. It was number 68. I looked up at the counter that says "Now serving #__."

It said, "Now serving #60."

"Yikes," I remember thinking to myself, "and they only have -like- two of the twelve people in the office actually working and helping people. This could be a long wait."

I was right. Not only were there only two of the twelve ladies on staff and in attendance working simultaneously at any given time, those two ladies (who would switch out with other ladies and disappear into the back room) were also incredibly and relentlessly SLOW at what they were doing. Their turnover rate was about one customer per twenty minutes between the two of them that would be working at any particular time. Many times, a lady would come from the back room towards front counter service area (many times these particular ladies would be chewing on something), and everyone in the waiting area would perk up and think to themselves, "My God! This is it! They're getting another lady in here to speed up the process! I may make it back in time to _____ after all!"

Then, the lady would look at the crowd, look at the two ladies actually working behind the counter, make some kind of inward decision, and then walk back to that back room. Those who would be waiting had the life fade out of their eyes as they would slump back into their chairs.

I was okay with the uncomfortable silence I was having with a group of older men. I was fine with us not talking or looking at each other, but time got the best of us. In the end, I found myself being told by several of them, "You know, you're a really pretty girl."

I don't mind compliments like that and stuff (and I often welcome compliments), but then they went on to say things like, "Well . . . at least we have a pretty girl to look at while we're sittin' here."

Eeek . . .

So . . . shortly after that particular statement, we went back to our uncomfortable silence, which somehow felt even more uncomfortable than it was before. I remember thinking, "Thank God we're moving away from here soon."

Finally, it came to be my turn seven numbers and at least an hour and a half later. While transferring the title, I learned that the title we received from Willi's parents was dated June 1st. Crap. Titling of a car is supposed to happen within 30 days. Yeah . . . that didn't happen. Late fees. Yay. I also had to get a new license plate even though the one that was already on there wouldn't expire until . . . well . . . until the new one I just put on there does. Bleh . . . I don't really understand the whole titling, licensing, registering, and all that crap that goes with it. I mean . . . I know it has to happen and stuff, but . . . late fees? Really? Does it have to involve long, ridiculous, absurd lines with BMV workers who can't seem to function if more than two of them are in a room at any point in time? Come on . . . we can do better than that, right? Crikey. I hear that the ladies cry because sometimes they have to work on Mondays. Pffft . . . they have such cushy hours there, it's not even funny. Sure, the building itself looks like what hell might be for me if I were to actually have to go there someday, but I imagine their job is probably not that bad. They sit there and shoot the crap with people all day long, and . . . what the crap! Only two of them have to be working simultaneously apparently. It's amazing to me, really.

I just had to share . . . It's too bad that BMVs everywhere are probably just like this one in good ol' Boone County. I dread the day I actually will decide to go renew my driver's license in my new name. Pfft . . . do I have to?