I’m late renewing the registration on our car. I don’t ever mail it anymore, since the six month ordeal last year that involved sending in the Vespa’s insurance information THREE TIMES and each time receiving a letter stating that we cannot complete the registration without insurance information, which culminated in a citation and Will taking unpaid time off to go to court to prove that it WAS registered. I’ve tried three times in the last week to go renew the car’s registration in person. (Of course the registrations renew six months apart, so I have to do this twice a year.)
First attempt, the line of cars to get into the parking lot went all the way down the block. (Locals: it’s the DMV on Formosa, and the line went almost all the way to Target.) Um, no.
Second attempt: line was only three cars long and contained within the parking lot. Waited 15 minutes. Not ONE person exited the building. Strike two.
Third attempt (today): No parking spots, but I am the first person in “line.” Man conducting inspection waves me over, tells me to park in spot that is being vacated. Specifically asks if I am there for an inspection, and I tell him I am there for registration renewal. (That is important.) Go inside, get a number. Ack, 108 and they are on 87. Sam, fortunately, is in good spirits. We brought balloons, and he wants to go up and down the ramp and between the rows of seats. No problem, he is not bothering a soul. I follow him around for half an hour, maybe 40 minutes. With two numbers to go until ours, a security guard appears. OH BOY, HERE WE GO. He tells me I cannot allow Sam to run back and forth. I ask why, he says, “They don’t like it.” Oh, fine. I tell him that I can allow Sam to go back and forth (he was not running) and not bother anyone, or I can force him to stop and he will scream and bother everyone. He says, “You have to do something.” So I pick Sam up and he screams. One number till ours. It will be fine. And then a woman appears and says, “Do you have a 2006 Mazda?” Yes, I do. I briefly wonder if she is going to give me grief for my expired tags (gee, why do you think I’m here?) but instead she tells me I have to move my car, that is not a parking space. “But I was TOLD to park there.” “No you weren’t, you have to move it NOW.” So we go to move the car, losing our place in line in the process. Sam loses his mind at being forced to leave. He refuses to get in the car and I have to force him into his seat. We pull out of the perfectly good parking space and wait in the lot along with everyone else on earth. Sam screams and screams. I beg him to stop and tell him we will go back inside as soon as there is a spot. A man is sitting in a pickup waiting for someone inside. I briefly consider getting out and telling him what a selfish ass he is, taking up a spot when so many people are waiting. I don’t. His friend comes out and gets in the cab. I turn on my signal. They sit there. And sit there. And sit there. I know they aren’t waiting for anyone else because there are no more seats in the vehicle. I start to cry, too, and we leave.
I can’t do this again. I am defeated.