I had some good times this summer. I had the opportunity to work as a camp counselor with my wonderful girlfriend. I heard of my sister’s stories of her teaching throughout China. I even got to spend time with my begrudging, yet wise, father who is the reason why I am the shmuck I am today.So, it was unfortunate when the summer was coming to an end. This was no more evident than when I came to the realization that my license needed to be renewed. I had an actual responsibility to attend to it at a brisk pace so that it did not expire.

My sister and I made our way down to the slowest moving place in our known universe, the Department of Motor Vehicles.

I get sick to my stomach just thinking about this actual place. It is as if the cruelest of authors got together and thought, “What would a hero hate more than anything?”

As I sat and looked around this waiting room with my number slip in hand, it became clear that not even authors had written this story.

I waited for what seemed the better part of an eternity for my number to be called when I starting thinking that only the cruelest of people could conjure up in their minds this waiting room of absurdity in its truest form.

My mind continued to wander as it pondered in this place. I was sitting in the prerequisite for this ultimate waiting room that would make even the DMV look like a heavenly place.

The questions began to pile up in the back of my mind and were pushing their way to the front. Is there a confusing numbering system in purgatory like at the DMV? Do people have to fill out paperwork that is already stored four times over in a database somewhere in purgatory? All I wanted was a new license.

I continued to sit there and saw many people with grins running across their faces as their numbers were called. After they had approached the front and had been handed down what they wished for, a license or a passing grade on the permit test, they left with a sense of relief. This point in life was over for them and now an obvious turn for the better was soon to take place.

My number would eventually get called and I would receive my new license and sense of relief. I would drive my non air-conditioned car with more pride than I had in awhile.

As I walked out of the DMV, the old man behind one of these database computers, who resembled Alf with a mustache, had the same look of indifference on his face as I walked out as he did when I came in two hours prior.

Maybe that waiting room was there so we would understand how free we really are outside of this larger box of awkwardness. Then again, maybe it was just there so we could suffer through something predictable before being thrown out into a society that is constantly unpredictable.

I should have asked one of the workers there these questions. I guess we should give them a little more credit. After all, they are the ones making the final decisions on who rides out to a better place and who heads in the other direction with their heads held low.

Author