How the DMV works

In an effort to blend in more readily with the locals, and to try to stop all the road rage I have been getting--I figured it might ease up if I had Utah plates--I decided to go and get new license plates and a new driver's license. After looking up the DMV location online I discovered that there were only two DMV branches listed for Salt Lake. I chose the closer address and headed down.

As I walked in the door I was immediately confronted with three foot high cubicle walls arranged in some sort of corral. As there were no toddler office workers around I guess the point was to form a line. Of course, there were no people in line, so I had to do that awkward zig-zag walk you do through maze lines when there are no other people there so that when you finally get to the person who works there you feel like an idiot. After I had worked my Indiana Jones magic on the toddler cubicle maze I was confronted with what I can only assume is the hostess for the DMV. She was in her 20s and sitting behind some sort of hostess stand with a computer that she was clearly not using. As I approached she said nothing, just stared (I am noticing that this is a trend out here, but more on that later) and after a second I said, "Yeah well I just moved here and I need to get new plates for my car and a new driver's license." She was already looking at the papers I had with me, then asked me what year the car was. When I told her it is a 2001 she told me I needed to have the car safety and emissions inspected and directed me to a garage next door.

I drove next door to the garage, which was a small mechanic shop that clearly has the best location in town, parked in front, and started to get out only to discover that a car had quickly parked next to me with a red-haired older woman in the passenger seat. We waved to each other to give each other the right of way to get out first and finally she accepted my invitation. After getting out she stood next to my door for 2 or 3 minutes making it impossible for me to get out of mine--though she did twice look at me through the window (to make sure I was still trapped inside I guess). Finally we all go inside the garage office and I learn that she is the mother (mother-in-law?) of the shop owner. As I waited for them to inspect the car, Red, as we'll call the older woman, sat across from me drinking what I can only assume was straight vodka, maybe gin, with ice from a clear plastic insulated cup. She sat and made odd remarks while the shop owner's wife howled about how "great" all the little objets in the office were. Also, they loudly asked shop workers questions about Willie Nelson such as: Where does he live? Is he married? Does he still tour? "I don't know!" came the frustrated answers which were met, every time, with an intense and loud, "These are things we MUST know!!" [I swear to God]

Out of sheer boredom and the hope that I might somehow engage in this world of crazy, I looked up Willie Nelson on my phone. By this time it was just me and Red in the office. I turned to Red and said, "Willie Nelson is married, by the way." Red just looked at me and gave me the kind of smile you get from polite people who don't speak or understand a word of English. I paid for the car inspection and left.

I went back to the DMV, navigated the baby maze, and met with the hostess again. This time she pressed a button marked "Titles and Registration" on her desk and a piece of paper with a number on it was printed out. She handed it to me and told me to take a seat. So, what is the purpose of the hostess if she doesn't even lead me to my seat?!

As I am getting my plates the middle-aged Eastern European lady helping me tells me politely that they don't do driver's licenses there. WHAT?! Where do I get a driver's license then? "At one of the driver's license branches," comes the answer. Uh, does she know where one is? No, she doesn't off-hand but I could look it up online myself. WTF? So I look it up on my phone and discover that the license branch is conveniently located ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF TOWN. What kind of sadistic idiot decided it was a good idea to pay for separate offices for licenses and license plates?
Naturally after driving to the license branch which, appropriately enough, is located at the Utah State Fair Grounds, I discovered that I needed another form of ID I had not brought and had to drive home and back before being told I needed to take the open-book driving exam. Cost? $25. After passing the test (first try!) I got my picture taken and the man handed me a pink piece of paper with what looked like a b&w copy of my new license. I asked what it was and was told it is my new license. What? "They'll mail you the laminated one in two to six weeks, but keep your old Indiana license (which he had punched holes in to make it invalid) because sometimes the cops don't like these paper licenses." What? What? [I should have named this blog 'What?!'] So I guess the driver's license branch doesn't give a fuck. Actually, that's kind of cool, so I'll give them a pass.

Overall I'd give the DMV a C- for inconvenience and confusion.