The Department of Motor Vehicles

Okay… on the subject of customer service, I must bring up the most ultimate customer service disgrace known to man or woman… the Department of Motor Vehicles. Is there a record of any human being who has made it out of one of these without posttraumatic anger syndrome followed by a severe case of bedsores on their rear end?

Please let me know if there has been, as I cannot seem to get out of one of these in less than an hour even if I am just stopping by for a conjugal visit to a license-renew convicted girlfriend. Here is a tip: Always bring a friend with you, so that you can remember to turn each other over every few hours to keep the severest of symptoms to a minimum. This will tell you who your real friends are; I guarantee it.

I have never understood how such a simple procedure, like making a plastic ID, could be made any more complicated. Punch them in, punch them out; you should be in and out of there in 10 minutes tops. They act as if the privilege of driving a motor vehicle is sacred.

Sacred my bedsore ass; have you ever looked beside you while waiting for a traffic light at the misfits who are allowed on the road with a license? All you need is half a good eye, one flexible finger, a wooden peg leg, and a smiley stamp discharge from the Looney Bin as minimum requirements. Well, at least that is what my fourth grade bus driver used to tell me…