I had the lovely experience of renewing my driver’s license yesterday after work. I had to rush home, shower, and make myself look presentable enough that I wouldn’t be embarrassed every time I get ID’d for the next four years.
After arriving at the renewal office in our one-horse town, I found the only clerk on duty stuffing her face with popcorn. Trying to be nice, I made some lame comment about interrupting her snack. She didn’t even bother to look at me, so I knew a reply was out of the question.
I handed her my soon-to-be expired license and she rattled off the usual questions in a hateful, monotone voice and cut me off before I finished one of my questions. I was then instructed to sit in a chair where I stared mindlessly into a tiny camera lens until she snapped “Got it.”
The telephone suddenly rang and she erupted in smiles and giggles as I began to wonder if she suffered from multiple-personality disorder. The sappiness in her voice made me want to puke as I longed for an end to the whole debacle.
Moments later, while still on the phone, she tosses the still-warm-from-the-printer license onto the counter with nary a glance in my direction. I said thanks and gave a slight wave to let her know that I was leaving and once again, there was no acknowledgment.
What a friggin’ witch. I should totally complain, but I figure she’d retaliate by having some cop she’s humping pull me over.