Getting the Third World Treatment

So yesterday was my date with destiny at the Washington State Department of Licensing. Every five years I, like other Washingtonians, get to visit the state offices and take our eye exams and pay our $25 to renew our licenses to drive (although now it looks like they’re switching to some sort of internet based renewal system).

I showed up 15 minutes early because as the old saying goes “If you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re just on time, you’re late.”

There was a line around the building. I had driven by there before and seen the same thing, but decided that I would wait for another day. Well, another day came and there was no more waiting; time was up.

So I stand in the drizzle with everyone else and I count that I’m the 39th person in this line. Oh joy!

We get let in and take our numbers from the machine. I take a seat along the wall as close as I can to the counter so that I could watch and hear the action, because I knew it would be comical because 60% of the people in the room at that time had manila envelopes and spoke little to no English.

Can you guess what was in those envelopes? Anyone? Bueller?

You are correct! Metricula Consular cards! (along with what I am sure were many other useless documents)

Now, before you get all worked up, let me tell you a little bit more about this comedy of errors.

First, the employees at this branch did not seem to enjoy having to “work with” the non-English speakers. They stuck with English for as long as they could before switching over to Gringo.

Second, when you get your license in Washington for the first time, you have to take a computerized multiple choice test. I did not know this, and you can’t tell by the rest of the driving public, but you have to pass it with an 80% score.

Not one single non-english speaker whom I saw head over to the testing bays had passed their test. They were allowed to come back that afternoon and take it again, but since those computers don’t have any language other than english on them, these folks won’t be getting their licenses any time soon.

95 minutes later, it is finally my turn to go up to the counter.

I had been watching the people working behind the counter and was hoping for this one particular guy who also did the license photgraphs. I could tell that having to speak Gringo was really pissing him off and I wanted to ask him a few questions about his job. I get all my information passed on to him and I ask him about job stuff, etc.

He gets all my information entered and he starts in with the standard questions about driving records in other states (not that he has any way to look that up and verify it) and about being an organ donor, etc. He then asks me a question along the lines of ‘Have I had any blackouts in the past year that would impare me from driving?’.

My first thought was “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you” but I just answered an honest “No” and followed up with “But I ain’t been right since the racoon bit me.” This annoyed his co-worker in the booth next to him because my guy laughed out loud and I don’t think that is allowed to do that while on the clock.

So we get done, in almost one-third of the time that the non-english speakers took (4min versus over 10mins) and it is time for my photo. I’m feeling about half-lit because it is almost 10:45 and I’m supposed to be sleeping, so as I take my hat and coat off for the picture, ask him if I can pose.

I’d heard his standard speech a dozen or so times while I was waiting my turn “Look here for three seconds. Smile if you wish.” And I figured that if folks could smile, I shoul be allowed to pose.

I showed him my pose, he laughed again and said “Go for it.”

This was my pose.

We’ll see if the minions at the Olympia office let that one through