I am trying to reconcile what I need to do in order to get my license tag back, see previous post Damn It's the Po Po. The officer took my license tag but gave no instructions on what I was supposed to do next, other than ride around town getting stopped every other block by the police.
This entire sequence of events was started due to an expired registration sticker. So I go on line and attempt to pay the registration fee and it says I have to call the DMV ( insert extreme zoom close up and scary music).
I called the number and someone in a very teacher from Ferris Bueller's Day Off voice announced that due to a heavy volume in traffic I could experience a long wait. A long wait from the DMV, no your kidding.
The person on the other end introduced themselves as Peggy and had one of the thickest country accents I had every heard. It was hard to understand her over the Hee Haw theme song that kept playing in my mind.
Peggy informed me that I had to go to a local DMV and pay the registration fee and have another license plate issued to me.
Well I got dressed and prepared to go to the DMV. It is funny I had the same feeling as when I went to the doctor for my Man Exam.
I arrive at the DMV, which is right up there with root canals and chemo as fun things to do. I stand in line with other tortured souls. This must be what purgatory feels like.
I stand in line for about 40 minutes and excitedly race to the counter when the older Black gentlemen finally waves me over. I start my scripted tale on how I need to recover my imprisoned tags. He waits for me to finish and laughingly says "Son this office is for license and identification you need to be at the office for plates and titles."
I felt like Pee Wee Herman when he took the tour of the Alamo waiting to see the basement only to have the tour guide say "There's no basement in the Alamo" ( insert fellow tourist laughter and someone snapping his picture).
I am beginning to think that it would be easier to get my tags out of Guantanamo than back from the DMV. I get the directions and head out even more committed to busting my tags out of the big house.
I get to the next office and yes there is an even longer line with similar tortured souls. This office is even more sterile and oppressive.
I take my place in line and folks start the requisite chit chat. One very nice Black woman in front of me ask about why I am there and I explain that I have to get a tag. Another elderly Black man tells me that "The Lord will get you through". I love Black folks!I think it's an expired registration sticker not colon cancer.
The line moves at a snails pace, no I take that back, a snail would smoke us at the pace we were moving. I continue conversation with the nice Black Lady in front of me and she eventually ask where I am from and what do I do. I tell her I teach at the college level.
Then there it was the distinct look a bird of prey gives before swooping in for the kill. "You a college professor? You got any kids? Are you single? I got a grand baby you should meet?"The scent of a college educated Black man, with benefits and possible available status is an intoxicating aroma.
I smile politely and was saved as she was waved towards the counter by the DMV clerk.There are several places African-Americans dominate: Sports, entertainment, Red Lobster and civil service jobs.
It was my turn and I finally approached the clerk and again recited how I needed to reclaim my imprisoned tag. She stopped me before I could launch into the meaty part of my tale. "Do you have the tag? No they took it I respond.
She tells how much I need to pay and then issues me a new tag. I laughing ask "What about the tag the police took? Will I ever see it again? She give me a dead pan look like don't make me pepper spray you fool.
I left the DMV finally validated with a new tag.I was still despondent about not getting my old tag back. I felt like my old tag was still being detained at Guantanamo and was most likely being cavity searched by some big military Hummer tag.
I thought this sucks! What if other offices like the Department of Social Services worked this way?
We took your daughter Regina Jackson but here take Quan Lee, they both have dark hair and are about the same size.