If The DMV Had Legs, I'd Pay Someone To Break Them

Well, it's been an interesting week to say the least.  Spent half of a day in the DMV actively restraining myself from losing my shit, got a job, gave back the job, was chased down and tackled by a loose dog while I was jogging, and spent the better part of 3 days trying to de-flea our house after the roomie's dog got infested.

Word on the street is Florida law requires that you get a Florida drivers license within 30 days of becoming a resident.  Technically, I've been a resident since my stay back in 2006.  So naturally, I decided to go and get my license about 5 years late.  No biggie.  Well, in order to prevent hours of needless line waiting just to be told by some disgruntled government employee I didn't have the right paperwork, I thought I'd call ahead and check beforehand as to what exactly I needed.

• A valid Drivers License - Check!
• Social Security Card - Check!
• 2 Pieces of Mail with my Name and Address - Check!

Hell, this should be painless, right?  Ya, not so much...  I got there early to avoid the hour long line at lunch.  It turns out that the short line after breakfast is still an hour long, and reeks of urine and cigarette smoke.  After waiting the full hour'ish in front of an obnoxiously ghetto woman who proudly named her daughter Channel Nevaeh because "it's heaven backwards" (for full effect, picture that you're bobbling your head back and forth while pretending you've just found out your baby's daddy is the father of your child on Jerry Springer) and her brother with his cellphone-boombox who "looks like her, but doesn't look like her, but looks more like her baby, but... shit, nah, he don't look like me".  I caught myself cracking up out loud a few times thinking about Finesse Mitchell's Standup.  Luckily, my brain went into autopilot and shut itself off from the world to avoid saying something rash or insincere that might in some crazy fashion be misconstrued as racist.

By the time I finally reached the receptionist I was about as mentally numb as I'm capable of becoming without the graceful nudge of a bottle of booze.  However, this wasn't nearly enough to keep myself from uttering a long drawn out (earmuffs) 'fuuuuuccccckkkkkk' when the guy told me I also needed my birth certificate because Wisconsin, along with a small handful of other Midwest states, is not on the list of Recognized Drivers Licenses as a form of primary identification for Florida.  Apparently my social security card, Florida car registration, 2 pieces of mail with my name and address, credit and debit cards with my name on them, my pasty white complexion, accent-free English, and my current Wisconsin license is not enough to prove I'm me and that I'm not here illegally.  Great.

Long story short, I drove home through lunch traffic, got my birth certificate, drove back to the DMV through even longer lunch traffic, droned out for another hour and a half in line, then gave $48 to a DMV guy for printing me off a new license that took about 13 seconds.  I can't wait till I have to renew my car's registration next year!

Well, it's late, I'm tired of typing, and you're probably (hopefully?) tired of reading, so I'm going to wrap this up and do a new one tomorrow or Wednesday for the dog tackling and our house-turned-cement-factory/coke shack after the flea invasion.  Till then!