Some Things Never Change

Back at the dee em vee. We're in a new state this time. The Herald Square edition of the New York State Department of Motos is outfitted in a scheme of cream and green paint, accented by blonde woodwork that has been urathaned within an inch of piss-yellow. A large bingo board at the front of the room is the sole focus of attention for everyone sitting in the five rows of wooden pews. Sometimes the numbers switch rapidly, as the DMVers cruelly dispatch one victim after the next; sometimes the numbers are frozen as a wave of petitioners manages to put up a bit more of a fight. In any case, the attention of everyone waiting must remain dutifully fixed on the board, because all changes happen silently. In a cruel twist on the usual boredom of the DMV, the silent room means that you can't read or doze or zone out, because there is nothing to alert you that your opportunity has slipped by. In this state of acute tedium, you must remain in an alert trance. It's enough to make me miss the plastic pasha's tent of the Whethersfield DMV where bells and gongs heralded every new opportunity and left one peacefully reading like a Penn station commuter waiting for the 5:45 to Oyster Bay.