How to survive a day at the DMV

“Fill this out and take it to Window 7.”

Guess where I was on Thursday. The IRS? No, don’t go there

anymore. Too spooky. The draft board? Nope, been there, done that.

The DMV? Ding, ding, ding ... we have a winner!

Yes, there I was, last Thursday, at the DMV office on 19th Street,

with my carefully folded license renewal form in hand, looking as

dazed and confused as everyone else. I could say I’d rather have a

root canal than go to the DMV, but that would be a lie. Going to the

dentist is still my number-one, clenched-fist, please-make-it-go-away

phobia.

Why is it so intimidating? I don’t know. Maybe because the moment

you step inside, you know this just isn’t a happy place. No one wants

to be here, everyone is stressed, which makes the people behind the

counters stressed, which makes you even more stressed, which is all

very stressful. Let me hasten to add, however, that things have

definitely improved at the DMV since I was there for my last renewal

five years ago, and don’t think we are not grateful for that long

interval between renewals because we surely are.

Not only is the DMV now open Saturday mornings, but they have gone

high-tech, thank you so much. You can actually make an appointment by

phone or with your little mouse, at www.dmv.ca.gov. Just follow the

prompts and you’ll end up with a bona fide appointment, just like the

dentist, which in my case was 0930, Thursday, Sept. 12. The appointed

ones get a number -- mine was F032 -- and a waiting area with nice

padded chairs in which they can await their fate. A

computer-generated voice -- a soft, pleasant woman’s voice -- calls

out numbers in a calm cadence. “Number B118 to Window 9, please.

Number D023 to Window 4, please.” It’s like an endless “The white

zone is for loading and unloading” announcement, only much more

pleasant. There’s also a video monitor above the waiting area with

numbers and their assigned windows for those who cannot hear or

understand the computer lady.

Speaking of hearing, one thing caught my ear. Every once in a

while a supervisor would stand behind the people at the counter and

say, “I’ve got a person-to-person. Who wants it?”

I have no idea what a “person-to-person” is, but it’s not good.

The people at the counter would sigh and roll their eyes until one of

them finally yielded and said, “I’ll take it.” I made a mental note:

don’t ever be a “person-to-person” -- ever. “Number F032 to Window

21, please.” That was me.

I use the same approach with workers in big government offices as

I do with customs agents and boarder guards. I’ve used it from

Vietnam, to Bulgaria, to the San Onofre checkpoint and it has never

let me down. Look them straight in the eye, never wear sunglasses,

don’t smile, don’t frown, don’t make small talk, in fact, don’t speak

unless spoken to. And the most important in my case -- which I have

printed in large letters on a mental Post-It inside my forehead,

don’t try to be funny. When someone with insignia on their collar or

a security badge around their neck stretches out their hand and says

“Papers?” -- “No thanks, I read them already” is not a good answer.

I arrived at Window 21, where a young man named Ali was finishing

up some loose ends from his last customer. Just then, a supervisor

appeared behind Ali’s back with a piece of paper in her hand. My

heart sank. “Please,” I thought, “not a person-to-person, not now.

You’ll get Ali tense and crankyand all weirded out. Give it to Window

20, or Window 8, anywhere but here.” I felt a rush of relief when she

dropped the paper beside Ali’s keyboard and walked away without a

word.

“How can we help you today, sir?” Ali said. I was dying to say

“You can help me get out of here, Sparky,” but I said, in a soft

voice to demonstrate my total submission, “License renewal.”

He tapped a few keys on his keyboard, played with his mouse a

little then said, “Fifteen dollars.”

I handed him a 20, he handed me a five. He held up two pieces of

paper. “This is your receipt (right hand.) This is your temporary

license (left hand.) Carry your temporary license with you at all

times when you’re driving. You’ll receive your new license in four to

six weeks.” He paused. I waited. Then I realized he wanted a

response.

“I understand,” I said.

Ali handed me both pieces of paper, but not before he punched a

hole in my old license, which went right through my cheek -- on my

picture, not my real cheek.

“Go to the ‘Photo’ line and show them your receipt. Have a good

day.”

I was thinking of saying “Thank you, the same to you,” but decided

to just go with “Thank you,” which I said quietly, looking directly

into Ali’s eyes. Things went pretty well at the photo line, no more

than five minutes and “flash” -- another one of those excellent

drivers license pictures that make you look like a frightened idiot

with bad hair in an abandoned mine. So when your time comes, and it

will, just try to relax. Remember, no smiling, no frowning, no

talking, and most of all, no funny stuff. You’ll be fine. I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs

Sundays. He may be reached via e-mail at PtrB4@aol.com.