The High Priestess visits Beelzebub...AGAIN
According to Offspring A; I have to give credit to the very hot Dane Cook for mentioning the fact that I have visited "Satan's Asshole" four times (count 'em FOUR) this summer. Geez Ave, did you think I wouldn't mention your future husband (does Jimmy know)? Hmmmmmmm.
I knew it before, but I just have to say, he's right. Not only is that place a horrible little world unto itself, almost defying description, but the people that work there are minions. It hasn't been easy. Two girls, both getting permits and learning to drive at the same time. In order for this to be possible, we have to make that trek to yes, you got it...DMV Hell.
It's not so much that the people there are terrible people. I'm sure they have their families, and their lives, and they're just trying to plug their way through this life, just like all of us. I always thought of DMV as a drudgery simply because of the THOUSANDS of people who show up at the same time you do. There's an endless stream of humanity in and out of those doors on a daily basis. That is, of course, except for one Monday a month. HOURS can go by. You could go into labor and actually give birth there and STILL not have your number called. You don't go there unless you HAVE to. Well, if you're a sado-masochist or something and you just LIKE pain. Which doesn't say a whole lot about me being there. I, personally, do not HAVE to be there. But THEY do, and someone's gotta get them there. Someone=me. Did I mention labor and delivery? I know what you're thinking; "She's only been through labor and delivery thrice." Well Kiddies, you're wrong. I'm going on number 8. Three times having produced progeny, and four times to the DMV with aforementioned progeny to hopefully walk out with little pieces of paper that say that they are legally allowed to drive me...to complete insanity. No offense girls, you just know what a nervous passenger I am.
Anyway, Caris and I get there at 7:10 am thinking that the gates of hell open at 8:00 am. Only to find that we have arrived on the ONE day of the week that they open at 9:00 am because they were open on the ONE Saturday of the month and closed on the following Monday. Are you following me? Yeah, that's what we thought too. We're probably the 3rd in line and so far the amount of people is pretty sparse, so we think we've done well. So we stand for two hours...keeping busy by quizzing Caris on the law test. Meanwhile, masses of humanity are forming lines behind us. Soon, the line is around the corner of the building...and growing. At around 8:00, a rotund woman dressed in black and sporting bright fuscia lipstick, with one of those little rent a cop badges on comes out to raise our country's flag (over Hades, no less) and while at her chore, begins to BARK orders at us about who should be standing in which line. Suddenly, I feel like I'm in Kindergarten again.
While people have occupied themselves around us, either networking by cell phone, or studying their homework, or chatting with others in line (more like co-miserating and talking smack about the DMV), or playing hacky-sack, time has, if not joyfully, then quickly passed. We've been taking care of business, making the best of a bad situation, and otherwise been in okay moods. Some have decided not to waste their time and left to try this another day (been there, done that. Take it from experience, WAIT IT OUT, it doesn't get better, believe me), some have walked across the street to McD's and gotten some sustenance. The point is, we've been a pretty orderly bunch; friendly, considerate. Then came the female Cujo. She starts every sentence as an order, a new world order. She's almost like the Gestapo.
Cuja: "THE OFFICE DOESN'T OPEN UNTIL 9 AM. WE SUGGEST MAKING AN APPOINTMENT IF YOU CAN TO AVOID STANDING IN LINES. THERE IS NO SMOKING, EATING, OR DRINKING INSIDE THE BUILDING, SO IF YOU ARE SMOKING, EATING, OR DRINKING ANYTHING NOW, YOU MUST DISPOSE OF IT BEFORE ENTERING THE BUILDING."
(disturbed mumbling from the crowd)
Cuja: "I NEED YOU TO STAND IN A STRAIGHT LINE AND MOVE BACK FROM THE DOOR."
(She begins shuffling people back behind an imaginary line. Obviously none of us were standing straight enough for her. After all, we only have another hour to stand here.
Now comes the fun part:
Cuja: "I NEED YOU TO FORM THREE LINES. (She walks to a centerpoint on the walkway) IF YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT, PLEASE LINE UP HERE." (one woman gets in that line) "IS THAT IT? ONLY ONE APPOINTMENT? YOU KNOW, YOU CAN MAKE AN APPOINTMENT ONLINE OR OVER THE PHONE, IT WOULD REALLY SAVE YOU TIME" (no one moves...Cuja rolls her eyes in disgust. She points at a GIANT sign on the wall that we've all been standing under which has the number for appointments.) I begin to think to myself, "Yeah, I've tried the online thing; it doesn't work, and I've called the number; they can make you an appointment two months from now. That will save me some time. Uh-huh. I wonder when the last time was that Cuja ever went online or tried to call. Yeah, that's what I thought.
(She moves over to the far side of the walkway)
Cuja: "I NEED THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE HERE FOR REGISTRATION ISSUES TO FORM A LINE HERE"
(Half of the crowd runs over to the line. Meanwhile, Cuja comes back over to our line)
Cuja: "THIS LINE IS FOR LICENSING, WRITTEN TESTS, AND DRIVING TESTS ONLY"
She starts pacing back and forth in front of the lines and looking at all of us over the top of her government issue MIB sunglasses. Meanwhile, the confusion begins and people are starting to throw questions at her..."what line do I get in for such and such" "what line do I get in for so and so", etc.) After she has fielded questions and people have gotten into their proper lines, she barks again:
Cuja: "THERE IS NO SMOKING, EATING, OR DRINKING INSIDE THE BUILDING, SO IF YOU ARE SMOKING, EATING, OR DRINKING ANYTHING, YOU MUST DISPOSE OF IT BEFORE ENTERING." (Uh, yeah, we got that. How about you go to the end of the line, which is in another zip code I might add, and tell the poor slobs in the back who are still partying with their cigs and Egg McMuffins?)
A woman comes up to the front and approaches Cujo. She asks her which line is for registration, and she's holding a blueberry muffin in her hand. Cujo doesn't even answer her question. Her eyes dart straight for the woman's breakfast and she says to her...
Cuja: "MA'AM, THERE IS NO EATING IN THE BUILDING, YOU'LL HAVE TO GET RID OF THAT."
Lady: "Yes, I know. But which line is for registration?"
Cuja: (pointing to the line) "IT'S THAT LINE THERE MA'AM, BUT THERE'S NO EATING IN THE BUILDING."
Lady: "Yes, I know. I'm all the way in the back of the line, it will be awhile before I get inside."
Cuja: "OK, BUT THERE'S NOT EATING IN THE BUILDING"
Jesus, Mary and Joseph...we GOT it, she GOT it, the whole friggin town GOT it already. Let the poor woman eat her damn muffin. God knows, it will be three hours from now before she even gets close to the front of the line. The door isn't even gonna OPEN for another half hour for chrissake! Did I mention to you that the last time I was here with Ave, Cuja was inside the building, going from desk to desk and eating candy out of employee's candy jars? Yes, that's right, eating INSIDE the building. This woman is definitely the poster child for Spawn of Satan.
About two minutes of blissfull silence passes and then the barking starts again:
Cuja: (pointing at the center line where the one lone woman stands with her little appointment) "IF YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT OR YOU'RE RE-TAKING THE WRITTEN EXAM, YOU SHOULD BE IN THIS LINE!"
Hold on just a minute, didn't she say before that that line was for appointments ONLY? Evil Cow on a power trip. Now Caris and I begin the move over to the next line as other people start RUNNING and we end up right behind Lone Appointment Woman...nyah nyah. It's now 8:45 and Lone Appointment Woman is visibly annoyed. She starts an exchange with Cuja:
Lone Appointment Woman (LAW): "If the DMV doesn't even open until 9:00, why in hell did they make my appointment for 8:45?"
Cuja: "I DON'T KNOW MA'AM"
LAW: "Well, I just think it's ridiculous that they don't even know what they're doing. This was supposed to save me time and hassle, and now I'm still late for work. Your appointment system is crap."
Cuja: (shrugs her shoulders and walks away) "SORRY"
Yeah, that helps. We do what you want us to do and we still get screwed? Right now I'm thinking about Dane Cook. The man is a genius.
LAW decides it's not worth it and storms off, leaving Caris and I in first place. Woohooooo! Cuja tells us when the doors open to go directly to Window 4. What? No number? We don't have to get a number? Hallelujah!
Doors open. Cuja starts barking again...does this woman ever stop?
Cuja: "WE WILL ADMIT ONE LINE AT A TIME AND ONE LINE ONLY! PLEASE STAY IN YOUR PROPER LINE!"
Ok, ok, ok, just let us in. 9:00 am.
We go to the window, Caris gets her papers, gets her pic taken, and is handed her test. I go sit down and contemplate the fact that I have to come here again within the next couple of weeks. Ten minutes later, she's getting her permit printed out, and then, we're walking happily out the door past all those poor people still listening to Cuja bark at them. I look to the back of the line and Muffin Lady is happily working on the last bite of muffin...right in front of Cuja. Caris and I laugh. 9:15 am
According to Offspring A; I have to give credit to the very hot Dane Cook for mentioning the fact that I have visited "Satan's Asshole" four times (count 'em FOUR) this summer. Geez Ave, did you think I wouldn't mention your future husband (does Jimmy know)? Hmmmmmmm.
I knew it before, but I just have to say, he's right. Not only is that place a horrible little world unto itself, almost defying description, but the people that work there are minions. It hasn't been easy. Two girls, both getting permits and learning to drive at the same time. In order for this to be possible, we have to make that trek to yes, you got it...DMV Hell.
It's not so much that the people there are terrible people. I'm sure they have their families, and their lives, and they're just trying to plug their way through this life, just like all of us. I always thought of DMV as a drudgery simply because of the THOUSANDS of people who show up at the same time you do. There's an endless stream of humanity in and out of those doors on a daily basis. That is, of course, except for one Monday a month. HOURS can go by. You could go into labor and actually give birth there and STILL not have your number called. You don't go there unless you HAVE to. Well, if you're a sado-masochist or something and you just LIKE pain. Which doesn't say a whole lot about me being there. I, personally, do not HAVE to be there. But THEY do, and someone's gotta get them there. Someone=me. Did I mention labor and delivery? I know what you're thinking; "She's only been through labor and delivery thrice." Well Kiddies, you're wrong. I'm going on number 8. Three times having produced progeny, and four times to the DMV with aforementioned progeny to hopefully walk out with little pieces of paper that say that they are legally allowed to drive me...to complete insanity. No offense girls, you just know what a nervous passenger I am.
Anyway, Caris and I get there at 7:10 am thinking that the gates of hell open at 8:00 am. Only to find that we have arrived on the ONE day of the week that they open at 9:00 am because they were open on the ONE Saturday of the month and closed on the following Monday. Are you following me? Yeah, that's what we thought too. We're probably the 3rd in line and so far the amount of people is pretty sparse, so we think we've done well. So we stand for two hours...keeping busy by quizzing Caris on the law test. Meanwhile, masses of humanity are forming lines behind us. Soon, the line is around the corner of the building...and growing. At around 8:00, a rotund woman dressed in black and sporting bright fuscia lipstick, with one of those little rent a cop badges on comes out to raise our country's flag (over Hades, no less) and while at her chore, begins to BARK orders at us about who should be standing in which line. Suddenly, I feel like I'm in Kindergarten again.
While people have occupied themselves around us, either networking by cell phone, or studying their homework, or chatting with others in line (more like co-miserating and talking smack about the DMV), or playing hacky-sack, time has, if not joyfully, then quickly passed. We've been taking care of business, making the best of a bad situation, and otherwise been in okay moods. Some have decided not to waste their time and left to try this another day (been there, done that. Take it from experience, WAIT IT OUT, it doesn't get better, believe me), some have walked across the street to McD's and gotten some sustenance. The point is, we've been a pretty orderly bunch; friendly, considerate. Then came the female Cujo. She starts every sentence as an order, a new world order. She's almost like the Gestapo.
Cuja: "THE OFFICE DOESN'T OPEN UNTIL 9 AM. WE SUGGEST MAKING AN APPOINTMENT IF YOU CAN TO AVOID STANDING IN LINES. THERE IS NO SMOKING, EATING, OR DRINKING INSIDE THE BUILDING, SO IF YOU ARE SMOKING, EATING, OR DRINKING ANYTHING NOW, YOU MUST DISPOSE OF IT BEFORE ENTERING THE BUILDING."
(disturbed mumbling from the crowd)
Cuja: "I NEED YOU TO STAND IN A STRAIGHT LINE AND MOVE BACK FROM THE DOOR."
(She begins shuffling people back behind an imaginary line. Obviously none of us were standing straight enough for her. After all, we only have another hour to stand here.
Now comes the fun part:
Cuja: "I NEED YOU TO FORM THREE LINES. (She walks to a centerpoint on the walkway) IF YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT, PLEASE LINE UP HERE." (one woman gets in that line) "IS THAT IT? ONLY ONE APPOINTMENT? YOU KNOW, YOU CAN MAKE AN APPOINTMENT ONLINE OR OVER THE PHONE, IT WOULD REALLY SAVE YOU TIME" (no one moves...Cuja rolls her eyes in disgust. She points at a GIANT sign on the wall that we've all been standing under which has the number for appointments.) I begin to think to myself, "Yeah, I've tried the online thing; it doesn't work, and I've called the number; they can make you an appointment two months from now. That will save me some time. Uh-huh. I wonder when the last time was that Cuja ever went online or tried to call. Yeah, that's what I thought.
(She moves over to the far side of the walkway)
Cuja: "I NEED THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE HERE FOR REGISTRATION ISSUES TO FORM A LINE HERE"
(Half of the crowd runs over to the line. Meanwhile, Cuja comes back over to our line)
Cuja: "THIS LINE IS FOR LICENSING, WRITTEN TESTS, AND DRIVING TESTS ONLY"
She starts pacing back and forth in front of the lines and looking at all of us over the top of her government issue MIB sunglasses. Meanwhile, the confusion begins and people are starting to throw questions at her..."what line do I get in for such and such" "what line do I get in for so and so", etc.) After she has fielded questions and people have gotten into their proper lines, she barks again:
Cuja: "THERE IS NO SMOKING, EATING, OR DRINKING INSIDE THE BUILDING, SO IF YOU ARE SMOKING, EATING, OR DRINKING ANYTHING, YOU MUST DISPOSE OF IT BEFORE ENTERING." (Uh, yeah, we got that. How about you go to the end of the line, which is in another zip code I might add, and tell the poor slobs in the back who are still partying with their cigs and Egg McMuffins?)
A woman comes up to the front and approaches Cujo. She asks her which line is for registration, and she's holding a blueberry muffin in her hand. Cujo doesn't even answer her question. Her eyes dart straight for the woman's breakfast and she says to her...
Cuja: "MA'AM, THERE IS NO EATING IN THE BUILDING, YOU'LL HAVE TO GET RID OF THAT."
Lady: "Yes, I know. But which line is for registration?"
Cuja: (pointing to the line) "IT'S THAT LINE THERE MA'AM, BUT THERE'S NO EATING IN THE BUILDING."
Lady: "Yes, I know. I'm all the way in the back of the line, it will be awhile before I get inside."
Cuja: "OK, BUT THERE'S NOT EATING IN THE BUILDING"
Jesus, Mary and Joseph...we GOT it, she GOT it, the whole friggin town GOT it already. Let the poor woman eat her damn muffin. God knows, it will be three hours from now before she even gets close to the front of the line. The door isn't even gonna OPEN for another half hour for chrissake! Did I mention to you that the last time I was here with Ave, Cuja was inside the building, going from desk to desk and eating candy out of employee's candy jars? Yes, that's right, eating INSIDE the building. This woman is definitely the poster child for Spawn of Satan.
About two minutes of blissfull silence passes and then the barking starts again:
Cuja: (pointing at the center line where the one lone woman stands with her little appointment) "IF YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT OR YOU'RE RE-TAKING THE WRITTEN EXAM, YOU SHOULD BE IN THIS LINE!"
Hold on just a minute, didn't she say before that that line was for appointments ONLY? Evil Cow on a power trip. Now Caris and I begin the move over to the next line as other people start RUNNING and we end up right behind Lone Appointment Woman...nyah nyah. It's now 8:45 and Lone Appointment Woman is visibly annoyed. She starts an exchange with Cuja:
Lone Appointment Woman (LAW): "If the DMV doesn't even open until 9:00, why in hell did they make my appointment for 8:45?"
Cuja: "I DON'T KNOW MA'AM"
LAW: "Well, I just think it's ridiculous that they don't even know what they're doing. This was supposed to save me time and hassle, and now I'm still late for work. Your appointment system is crap."
Cuja: (shrugs her shoulders and walks away) "SORRY"
Yeah, that helps. We do what you want us to do and we still get screwed? Right now I'm thinking about Dane Cook. The man is a genius.
LAW decides it's not worth it and storms off, leaving Caris and I in first place. Woohooooo! Cuja tells us when the doors open to go directly to Window 4. What? No number? We don't have to get a number? Hallelujah!
Doors open. Cuja starts barking again...does this woman ever stop?
Cuja: "WE WILL ADMIT ONE LINE AT A TIME AND ONE LINE ONLY! PLEASE STAY IN YOUR PROPER LINE!"
Ok, ok, ok, just let us in. 9:00 am.
We go to the window, Caris gets her papers, gets her pic taken, and is handed her test. I go sit down and contemplate the fact that I have to come here again within the next couple of weeks. Ten minutes later, she's getting her permit printed out, and then, we're walking happily out the door past all those poor people still listening to Cuja bark at them. I look to the back of the line and Muffin Lady is happily working on the last bite of muffin...right in front of Cuja. Caris and I laugh. 9:15 am
posted by Pua; Bakin' and Tendin' Bar | 9:23 AM
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