An open letter to the Department of Motor Vehicles.

Dear Department of Motor Vehicles, To continue in English, press (1).

I don't understand how you could possibly make your procedures more complicated, but you did, DMV. That was made evident by the tangle of people looking lost as I walked in this afternoon.

"Press button for service," the sign read, give or take some words. Which button? There were several buttons. And what if my needs require two buttons? Can I press both?

I was given a number anyway. 319.  So I took a seat to wait.

And wait. AND WAIT. And wait.

It's not that I consider myself superior to others, DMV, but why is it that every time my needs take me to the Department of Motor Vehicles office, I feel like I just walked into the local homeless shelter? Or as though I am in line for food stamps?

What is it about you that brings everyone in the whole world to the DMV at the same time? And by "everyone in the whole world" I mean "everybody who scares me" and "seriously. There are, like, 193 people here."

"All scary."

All I needed to do was fork over $78 (!!!) (!!) (cough) (!) to renew my license plates, and 53 minutes later, I'm glad I chose to spend my entire lunch break with you. I wasn't hungry.

I hate you. Hope that helps. Have a nice day.