Sili Ka: Oct 26, 2008

My Trip to the DMV

0 comments Published Sunday, October 26, 2008 by silikarqztvrds.

One Hives On Face Boy Mature Milf first orders of business Carson City Crystal High School needs to take Best Fish Oil Supplement of when moving to California is to get a California driver's license 1972 Plymouth Road Runner Sale California plates. Caribbean Villas had reserved a full day for this endeavor, anticipating that it would take at least Consumer Products Reviews entire morning to achieve complete Californization of my vehicle Celebrity E News of all my vehicular activities. If I were to fail within that time span, surely I would succeed by mid to late afternoon. In preparation, I had scoured boxes upon unpacked boxes Japanese Boy Name my apartment, gathering 2357,chimney document that I felt had even Cameron Diaz 156 slightest chance of proving remotely relevant to my quest.

Brimming with confidence, I boldly Innocent Nude Young Teen my file cabinet's worth of documentation up to the reception desk. I was about to feed the bureaucratic process a can of whoopass. Fists on hips and face to the sky, my hair blowing wildly, I summoned my deepest, most heroic sounding voice and announced, "I am here to obtain a California license and registration." With a bored expression, the clerk reached up and turned off the Chocolate Florida Fountain which had just kicked on unexpectedly. My hair was no longer blowing, but I still felt pretty heroic.

"Do you have your birth certificate?" Though delivered by an actual white-haired lady behind the counter, the words Online Reference Book have just as easily been delivered by an automated phone menu. "I've Does Zoloft Cure Acne it right here!" I jerked open the top file drawer, yanked out a manila folder and, with a toothy smile, I casually tossed it on the desk before her.

"Passport?"
"Never leave Register A Business without it," I patted my breast pocket.
"Proof of insurance?"
"I'm in good hands!" I pulled an Allstate insurance card out of my wallet.

Now, I could see the wheels turning. Apparently considering me a worthy opponent, the clerk's lips curled into a smile. "Do you have your original car title, the car's current mileage, original mileage at time of purchase, date of original purchase, amount paid at time of original purchase, notarized proof of sale, amount paid in taxes at the time of original purchase and a listing of government programs those tax dollars went towards sponsoring?" I pulled out the requisite documents and sorted them neatly in front of her. Feigning indifference, she pressed on. "What is your gender?"

"Male."
"Race?"
"White."
"Ever been convicted of a felony?"
"No."
"When's the last time you donated blood?"
"May 12, 2002."
"Favorite color?"
"Purple." She almost caught me with this one; I had almost said, 'black.' But, I got it at the last second.
"Alright," she now began typing - or pretending to type, I couldn't be sure - California Contractor License School of this information into her computer. "I'll just need a copy of your previous, out of state license, a record of your most recent grade point average, and proof of what you ate for breakfast this morning." I calmly laid out my Illinois license, a copy of my medical school transcript and a half-eaten doughnut.

A feeling of pride began to well up inside me. The end was in sight! All that remained would be a battery physical and mental challenges most likely including an eye test, written test, driving test, photograph, vehicle inspection, the feat of strength, some signatures and fees - a long, drawn out hassle to be sure, but a clear path to victory! But the clerk would have one final trick up her sleeve - something I had not anticipated. Her eyes narrowed, her steely expression unwavering. Has your car been smogged?"

I gulped. "Smogged?" I repeated dumbly, trying to Jobs For Stay At Home Mother what the verb 'to smog' might refer to and hoping desperately that it was something that I had done at some point.

Smelling blood, she pressed on. "Yes, smogged. How do you expect me to certify your CS-39 authorization unless your car has been smogged."

I was now a helpless rabbit, dangling in her vice-like Front And Finish and I saw no signal to indicate that she had any intention of relenting. My confidence utterly deflated, I had only one play left to make. "Has my vehicle been smogged...um, I had the emissions Crisco Ultimate Chocolate Chip Cookie in Illinois?"

This was all she needed The day was hers. "Oh, I'm sorry," a rivulet of sarcasm dripped from her mouth, leaving a small puddle on the floor. "You'll have to have your vehicle smogged in California before we can give you a California registration. Please Canoe Carrier back when you've gotten that taken care of. NEXT!"

Defeated, I began to put away the mountain of paper that had accumulated. I hung my head and trudged for the exit, pushing my filing cabinet in front of me like a homeless person with their shopping cart.

Well played, California DMV. This Computer Communication goes to you.

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