The “Department of Motor Vehicles” (DMV) has managed to successfully waste eight hours of my life today by saying I simply had to drive all the way to Salem to conduct a bit of car title related business.  Once I got there of course they denied ever talking to me, and at one point actually tried to convince me they were an under cover branch of the FBI and I was in danger of becoming a serious threat to national security if I didn’t leave immediately.  Once it was reluctantly admitted that I may have actually spoken to someone who may or may not be in the building, it took another hour and a half to find the manual in which they were able to look up the fact that the person I allegedly spoke to didn’t know their ass from a hole in the ground.  At this point they took my name and number, said they would get right on it, but now I could probably run along home.  So on my long drive there, my long wait in a waiting room full of pre-1980’s magazines, and my long drive back I composed a little ode to the DMV.  It’s not great, but give me a break, why write a good poem for someone you hate?

 

The D.M.V.

They sure hate me

Although I’m not sure why

 

I took title

I took my check

They said piss off and die

 

Grab a number

Grab a hard chair

Take your happy ass and sit over there

 

I sat right down

At 10 o’ 5

now it’s twenty to three

 

I’m too afraid

To get up now

Yet soon in my shorts I’ll pee

 

For if I leave

And miss my call

No time will be left to be helped at all

 

The evil people

Behind the glass

For them to say “No” is joy

 

If they can help

They surely won’t

It’s all a demonic ploy

 

I can’t believe

Their getting paid

At least this job isn’t getting them laid

 

Some other way

There must be

Cause’ I sure hate the D.M.V.

According to Dante, in the eighth ring of hell there are 10 ditches, and in the ninth ditch they keep the Sowers of Discord and Schism.  Unfortunately through some sort of demonic clerical error they have all been set free and employed at our local mini mart here in Astoria.  I have yet to go in and not have something totally unbelievable happen, someone is trying to steal all of the mild salsa, or attempting to kill themselves with a lime flavored Popsicle.  Normally I don’t mind the bizarre and under typical circumstances I would stop by just for general entertainment however these freakish incidents always seem carefully plotted to bring about the most wasted time for me.  I suppose that is my problem, I have never entered the mini mart and thought to myself, “Gosh, I hope something happens that will allow me to stand behind an individual who considers bathing optional, while watching the night clerk attempt to force the paper tape into the visa machine, sideways for about 20 minutes”.

Oddly enough the clerks usually seem quite cheerful, I just find it unlikely that anyone can be that incompetent with out serious planning and forethought. Here is a transcript of an actual conversation overheard while (of course) standing in line.

 

Customer: Can I have two corn dogs and some potato wedges please?

Obviously Demonic Clerk: Yes sir, 3 burritos coming right up.

Customer: Uhhh, no that was two corn dogs and some…..

ODC: Would you like extra cheese on that burger?

Customer: No, wait, cheese? I thought you said…

ODC: I’m going to need to see some ID please.

 

Eventually the confused customer will wander off with a piece of fried chicken, a lottery ticket and an odd tic that will take years of therapy to cure.

            It also seems that anyone wearing an even mildly clean polo shirt is fired on the spot, it’s the only explanation for why I have never seen one.  In truth it seems as though the only way to maintain employment is if your uniform was used as a diaper by a small child with dysentery , or failing that as a field dressing for someone with legionnaires disease.  Try as I might not to end up there it seems as though the dark forces conspire to suck me into the evil vortex at least once a week.  Who knows maybe one of those lottery tickets will pay off eventually. 

 

                Well true to tradition round the world, I did what most people do on New Years. I drank a whole lot of  rum and did various embarrassing dance moves while listening to loud music.  I’ve personally always had a belief that tall men should be exempt from having to dance at all.  If your of average height only the people in your immediate vicinity can see you, if your tall however, everyone in the room can see that you dance like a nerve gas victim in the final throes of agony.  Besides it’s difficult to do “the sprinkler” when you keep bopping people on the tops of their head.

                Speaking of tradition, why the hell do we try and sing that dumb song every year.  Nobody knows the words to it, and the people that do know the words don’t know what in the hell they mean.  Turns out that “Auld Lang Syne” is Latin for piss off.  Actually it is a very old Scottish song that people would sing when they were drunk, Robert Burns reportedly heard it  (possibly while drinking) and wrote a poem version. Thing is, if you have spent any time around Scottish people, they are often drunk, and if their not  bragging about the “Battle of Bannokburn” they are probably singing.  I’m quite sure there are some better songs we could have ripped off for our tradition. Now millions of people mumble through the song every year. In a rare moment of  collective consciousness we all mumble through the same spots together.

 

                Should old acquaintance be forgot

                Mumble, mumble, mumble 

                Something, something mumble mumble

                Something else, (strong finish) Auld Lang Syne

 

                The best part is that people not only don’t know the words in the middle, neither do they know the tune.  Add that to the fact that 95 percent of the population has never even thought about the song, much less tried to sing it with a blood alcohol level under .15.  At least when people muddle their way  through the  national anthem they can usually stay with the tune.  In recent well documented (here) survey (of my girlfriend), more people in the average American household (mine) knew the words to “La Bamba” than they did “Auld Lang Syne”.  Right after changing Christmas, were changing the damn song we sing at New Years.  I think I may be able to run for political office on that platform alone. 

It has happened again, once I finally resign myself to the reality of Christmas and start to actually enjoy it, turns out it is the 26^th. The presents have all been unwrapped and scattered throughout the house,  Stockings lay discarded beneath the tree, reminiscent of used prophylactics discovered in the underused portion of a muddy parking lot.  Soon the tree will have to come down, and although our cats have done their best to remove any low hanging ornaments, we will be responsible for storing the survivors till next year.  The only thing left to look forward to now is New Years, or as I like to call it casual smooching followed by a hangover.

For some reason I start to get the Kris Kringle Dread right around the middle of November. I am not a person who is able to go through the year and if I see something that Aunt Marge would like for Christmas in April, buy it, and then store it for the rest of the year.  No, all of my annual shopping is done right around the last 2 weeks before Christmas.  This does not make for inspired gift giving to be sure.  Once I have gotten everything in order it takes a couple of days to calm down and start actually enjoying the season, but of course by then it is over.  Maybe I will make that my un-kept new years resolution this year, get my Christmas gifts together a little earlier this year so I can enjoy the season. 

Maybe we can celebrate Hanukkah next year so that it is spread out a bit more, and besides then I could feel finished once I had gotten 8 specific gifts.  I think I would like a nice week long holiday where there were specific types of gifts to be bought for each day.  So Christmas was on a Sunday this year, we would have started on Monday the 19^th.  The first day would be robe/pajama day you get your comfortable new morning attire so that it can be enjoyed for the rest of the holiday.  Day two is books,  this year my girlfriend got David Foster-Wallace, and I got Calvin and Hobbes.  For people who don’t like to read a nice movie can be given instead. Day three is jewelry, watches or lingerie depending on your mood.  Day four is food/candy, go wild and buy a summer sausage medley. Day five is electronics, anything from flashlights to computer games, whatever as long as it uses electricity.  Day six is gag gift day, remote control fart machines and really bad hats go here.  And of course Christmas morning is all about stockings, you can stick quite a lot in a stocking so for those of us who like a traditional Christmas morning experience we still get a myriad or things to open, eat, ect.

            I quite like this, it gives a framework for what kind of gifts to get but leaves enough leeway for the personal touch.  This also spreads out the Christmas giving experience, keeps the spirit alive as it were.  In truth this probably won’t help me at all, next year on the fifth day of Christmas I will be looking online to see if anyone can overnight me a remote control fart machine.  Oh well, at least I have casual smooching to look forward to.