Po
Boy Views
By
Phil
LaMancusa
Effanineffable
Or
Asexual
Screw
A
visit to the DMV, is mostly described as a thoroughly humiliating experience
and a topic of epic conversations over adult beverages; very few of us have ever
had overtly pleasant times there. “I
got my number, went out for a run, had some lunch, and when I went back; they
still hadn’t called my turn”.
You’ll
hear stories like this from every other person that has gone to the Louisiana
motor vehicle processing centers. They used to be called the DMV, but now they
go by OMV, different name, same dysfunction if not worse; the more aware we are
of the advances in the outside world the more archaic the OMV appears,
functionality speaking.
“I waited for two hours and then they wanted information that
was NOT listed on their website as necessary and literally I had to camp out
and argue with them (quietly but firmly) for forty-five minutes before they
finally gave in and let me have my license changed from Seattle to here”. And
other stories like that; everyone I’ve spoken to has a horror story for when
they try to do motor vehicle business in New Orleans, such as getting an
updated version of your license when you change address or registering your Nissan
Hocus Pocus or Honda Cilantro. Advice: bring a book and lunch or people watch the
circus unfolding around you, asking yourself if it was worth the wait and the
two busses it takes to get to this remote facility.
Here’s some points: there is no clock on the wall to tell
you how long you’ve been waiting, the time of ‘your turn’ ticket is stamped and
a number for you to wait to hear announced for your up at the window portion of
your visit; the numbers are called in no particular order. I sat next to a one
arm taxi driver that waited five hours while numbers up and down from his were
called for service before his turn was announced. Next, the chairs in front of
whatever window you get to are lower than the one of the person serving you, I
think so that you feel smaller than they, a typical alpha humiliation tactic
used often in job interviews.
There is a triage station where they weed out the totally
unprepared, answer basic questions and issue a slip of paper that assigns you a
letter and a number. E437, F585, G624 etc. High point of our last visit is when
the number I 810 (pronounced by the loudspeaker as “Now serving Eye Eight One Zero,
at counter number seventeen) was called; the entire room waited with baited
breath as the number went up one time and then two for when it was announced
that window number seventeen would be servicing number “I ate one too”, a
collective smile went around the room. That’s how boring it is there. Oh, there
are over twenty service windows there and at any one time I only saw upwards to
eight employees (wo)manning them; the waiting area seats hundreds and each time
I went it was full to capacity.
First condition on getting booted off premises is to show
up without your Social Security Card (the real hard copy is a must); why? Who
the *&^%$#@! Knows? Next they want any proof of employment to be on
‘official’ letterhead stationary; renting agreements have to be on ‘official’
rental forms (available at office supply stores) and hand written anything is pushed aside as irrelevant.
The office hours are from 8:00 to 4:00 weekdays
(excluding holidays) and it’s common to see parents arriving after 3:00 with
school kids to witness the mortification of their elders. At 3:50 a uniformed security guard about as big
as a refrigerator announces that the doors will be locked in ten minutes and
those still inside will be served; go out that door after four and there’s no
re-entrance etc. etc. That’s when the efficiency of rejecting customers goes
into high gear and you’re made to feel like they’re now shooting fish in a
barrel and guess who’s in the barrel next?
I was with a friend who has just moved here from Oregon
and was changing his valid driver’s license from there to here; the first time
he waited four hours before he was rejected on a technicality and we went back
the second time with everything needed and got there at the opening bell. There
were a hundred people waiting for the opening and it took nearly an hour to
process through triage. He was then given a ticket with the number 26 on it. It took him six and a half hours to get
seen and approved.
I have made two observations. First: the system I
witnessed screams of letting people who really don’t like their jobs
micromanage their clients to near psychic suicide. Answers like “we don’t have to do nothing here!” when
shown what should pass for appropriate paperwork; and when the question is
rephrased to “it says that these can be
considered” answer “that’s more like
it; we can consider, but we don’t have to
do nothing!” Semantics is crucial. Second: folks are so pissed at the way
they are treated, that subconsciously they vow never to heed any traffic laws
ever.
So when that speeding driver cuts you off; when they make
a left turn from the right hand lane; when they turn without a turn signal (or
don’t); when you see someone speed through a yellow light; ignore pedestrians
in a crosswalk or drive like the bike lane is their lane; when they lay on
their horn because they think that you’re not going fast enough for them even
though you’re going the speed limit: picture the abuse that they’ve endured
just to be on the road and wish them a repeat visit.
Being on the road can be hell; getting the proper
credentials to get on the road is heller.
