D'jew hear me?

Why is it when you go to your local DMV you see the lowest denominators of society. The word my grandmother has always used is actually "scummins", a word that only applies in a few places, the DMV being one of them. State fairs, WalMart on Saturday, and the campground at Myrtle Beach may be some others. If you happen to be scummins yourself, I apologize for being such a snob, but I haven't been as entertained by scummins in a public setting since my Backwoods Emergency Room experience at the beach a few years ago.

As you know, when you walk into a DMV there is always a line, a collection of plastic chairs connected by a long metal bar, and a staff comprised of people of ambiguous gender clad in unattractive blue uniforms that want to be police uniforms, but aren't. That should set the scene fairly well. Instantly bored, I began to chat up the woman in line in front of me. She was very excited to be getting her license reinstated from her DUI 15 months before. She waited an extra two months, she explained, because every time she drove by the DMV the line was too long to stop. Did you catch that? Every time she DROVE by? You know, without her license? Yeah.

I at last got past the "guard" who tried to scare me away by insinuating that I didn't have all of my documents for an out of state transfer of license, but hooHOO! I had read the website and had everything proclaiming me to be me and then some. It pleased her and she sent me to the row of chairs with paperwork. That was when the 400 pound man almost sat on me. This man - possibly the largest man I have ever seen who wasn't on The Biggest Loser - chose to sit directly beside me on those tiny chairs. I'm not going to lie - I did a precautionary, yet discreet, lift in case the whole row went down. His girth more than infringed upon my space as I attempted to fill out my Very Important Form. Luckily, they quickly called him back for his vision test, after which he returned his cataract sunglasses to his face.

My favorite scummins were the ones who were standing at the window beside me as I applied for my license. This was beyond country-come-to-town. This was greasy folks slithered out from under their rock and saw people for the first time. It was a momma and her two sons, each in their twenties or so. All three had the thickest, largest glasses I have ever seen (and I can assess this accurately), a lack of some teeth, though the front two were prominently available for viewing in all three individuals, loooooong greasy stringy hair, and acid washed jeans. Both boys/men topped their coif with camouflage trucker hats that had seen better days. The momma was hanging over the counter trying to exert her influence on the ambiguously gendered officer. "One of your secretaries? In the back? She knows him PERSONALLY." She jabbed her finger into one of her son's sides. "D'jew hear me? She knows him PERSONALLY." She nodded proudly. After stating this fact several more times and passing on the offer to register to vote (whew!) she was informed that she did not qualify for whatever business she was pursuing at the DMV that day.

It was great people watching. I was in and out in about an hour and pretty pleased with the process. Mr. Pigs went later that afternoon and his stories only topped mine when he met the guy who had managed to get two DUIs in a single day. Now that? Takes talent. The good news is that my license is good for the next ten years. When I have to go do that process again, I will be 42 and my children will be 12 and 10! The bad news is that for some reason in Georgia, they put your weight on your license. Who knew they did that anymore? All in all, an interesting experience.