New York has a lot going against it as far as customer service goes. You’ll run into a good amount of random people who are surprisingly nice, but God forbid it if their job is to serve you. Oddly enough, this is especially true if food and tipping are involved.
Yesterday I mentally and physically prepared myself to be shat on for several hours in a place where neither food nor tipping nor any kind of fun whatsoever may be had: the DMV. Most DMVs are absolute clusterfucks, and with New York’s population being what it is, I expected it to be especially brutal here.
I did all the preparing I possibly could before beginning the proverbial grueling journey. I had printed my application for a motorcycle permit from the DMV website and filled it out ahead of time. I amassed every single piece of ID they could possibly request of me. I brought along a book and a Gameboy in case the wait was really long… like, more than five minutes. I did not, however, print or read any part of the Motorcycle Course Manual that accompanies the test I’d be taking, but that’s beside the point.
When I got to the DMV (which is in a mall, which is pretty cool—more on that later), there was a line that went all the way out the door. I decided that couldn’t possibly be the right line for me, so I went inside. There was a much shorter line with a sign in front of it that read, “Learner’s Permits.” That’s me! I wanted a motorcycle learner’s permit, as indicated by the form that I had filled out after clicking the link that specifically read, “Motorcycle Permits.” I handed them 100 forms of ID, they took my picture, I waited a little longer, they gave me a test, I passed it, no problem. All I had to do then was wait for my number to be called and I would get my permit.
While I was waiting, Gus called to warn me of the perils of attempting to obtain any kind of license in New York while still holding a license in Texas. I guess he told some people at work what I was doing and everyone from out of state (a lot of people) had their own horror story. One of them involved paying 25 dollars to wait for a fax from some state department in Texas just to confirm that he had a license. Bah! I had read a little something about transferring licenses on the DMV site. There was so much paperwork and hoop-jumping involved that I got bored and stopped reading, deciding that I would somehow circumvent this. I told Gus that everything was cool and I was about to get my permit right then. As usual, I spoke too soon.
When I reached the window, some blickety-blahing and clickity-clacking happened, and I was informed that there was a “hold” on my license from the state of Texas. I immediately thought of last year’s incident where I was pulled over and later issued a warrant for my arrest.
Crap. I was afraid this might happen. I figured if Texas wanted to be assholes (yes, collectively), they could keep me from driving anywhere else until I took care of my ticket. I’m going back to Austin next month to attend a wedding, and I thought I might also turn myself in and spend a night in jail to take care of this ticket. But now I think I’m just going to attend a wedding. It’s for the best—Once in jail, I could suffer from a “medical condition,” enabling my dad’s lawyer to allow me to finish my sentence in my expensive, comfortable home, only to find out shortly after that I must go back to jail and serve more time than originally slated. Man, these rose-colored glasses are nice.
Anyway, that was a tangent. Nothing happened. You just can’t have two licenses of any kind from two states. It was at that point that they learned (because I told them) that I was trying to get a motorcycle permit, not a regular one. They said, “This is the right form, but you have to tell them that you’re here to take the motorcycle test.” And I kindly responded, “You can’t fault me for not answering a question I wasn’t asked.” There was some more nice discussion, but details on this are boring, so I’ll just say what happened: They ushered me back to the testing area, waited a whole five minutes for me to take and pass the motorcycle test, ushered me back to the window, and gave me a temporary New York license and a motorcycle permit. No paperwork and almost no time wasted.
Ta-da!
NY DMV is good people, I tell you what.