A time for renewal

It's been years and years since I've seen the inside of a DMV. Last time I was there, cell phones and the Internet did not exist. Appointments were new, and I'm pretty sure the car I was driving was a stick shift (without power steering).

However, on my return visit yesterday, I realized that though the times have changed, the DMV has not.

The fun began as soon as I entered the parking lot, where I swerved to avoid being hit at least three times. I made my way to the huge line curling around the building, and waited 20 minutes to enter the building. Once instead, the clerk asked what I was there for, and before I could answer, she handed me a number and told me to sit down.

The seats were all full, but there was plenty of room to stand. I found myself a nice big area, and waited for all of three seconds before a tiny, ancient Asian woman walked over and stood directly in front of me. I'm talking inches away from me, even though there was a good five-foot radius of space surrounding me. I moved a bit to my right, and she followed suit. I moved a step back, and she did the same. Finally, I moved over to the other side of the room.

I was a least thirty numbers from being called, so I sat back and relaxed, until I heard a ruckus at the front door. It sounded like someone was carting in a bag of aluminum cans and bottles, and when I turned to see the commotion, that's exactly what it was. A man with no teeth lugged them in noisily. I'm not one to make judgments, but I wondered why he'd need a driver's license when he clearly did not have a car (or car trunk) to store his cans in.

I sat back and enjoyed the din and commotion of a thousand irritated people crammed into a slow, poorly ventilated building. When I was three numbers away from being called, a little kid in a stroller chucked his lollipop across the floor. He laughed until he realized it wasn't coming back, and started wailing. Luckily, they called my number when he paused momentarily.

My window was in the back, around the corner. I edged around Mr. Recycling, who was at the window next to me, and to my window.

"Hello," I said pleasantly to the clerk, who kept his eyes down and answered with a gruff, "Papers." He put out his hand.

"Sign it," he said, shoving it back.

"Can I borrow a pen?" I asked and he pointed at a desk filled with attached pens on the other side of the room.

"Nice day today, huh?" I asked when I returned. I was determined to make eye contact with the robot. But he ignored me. "PIN number," he commanded after I handed him my debit card.

After waiting roughly an hour for my turn, I was done in all of two minutes. "Pictures," said the clerk of few words, so I headed over to the camera area.

The camera man was the exact opposite of Mr. Personality. He had no line, and seemed glad for the company.

"Heather Dinsdale of East Long Beach, STEP RIGHT UP!" he shouted, although I was only a foot away from him. But his enthusiasm was infectious, so I called out, "Here I am!" and stepped right up.

Before I could push my hair out of my eyes or blink, he'd taken the picture and completely lost interest in me. I smiled at him, my best friend two minutes ago, but he was back to propping his head in his hands.

"I'm done?" I asked, and he simply nodded. He pointed out the nearest exit.

And as I left, I took one more quick glance around the room, at all the employees doing their best to avoid any personal contact with the masses. I looked at the captive crowd, and how incredibly busy it was. And I'm starting to think maybe my company spends too much time promoting good customer service.

Because clearly, as the DMV proves, customer service is really overrated.