Waiting on a Number, Finding a Story: A day at the DMV

What the DMV Taught Me About Hope, Bureaucracy, and the people around me

We had plans.

Good ones, too. Yard work. A workout. Maybe catch up on the Giro d’Italia while pretending we knew what was going on. But instead, we found ourselves pulling into the DMV at 10:00 a.m. on a gorgeous spring day, bright-eyed, slightly overconfident, and completely unaware of the long, slow journey that lay ahead.

Now, this wasn’t even our usual DMV. We’d been warned about that one. It’s always slammed, always slow, and generally known as a place where hope goes to die. So we took the local advice and made the short drive over to the neighboring little village, where everyone swore the staff was courteous and the wait time was basically nonexistent.

Well, we were successful on one of those.

The line outside should’ve tipped us off.

But we thought, how bad could it be?

Turns out, the line we saw was just the line to get into the line. Sort of like purgatory, but with less music and more overheated asphalt.

We ended up spending six and a half hours in that place. Not in and out. Not breaking for lunch. Just there. Slowly shifting from one bench to another, inching toward the promised land of government-issued plastic rectangles.

But here’s the thing. Somewhere in that long day, something kind of beautiful happened.

We met people.

Real, funny, frustrated, hopeful people. All of us stuck in the same broken system with nothing to do but talk, groan, and occasionally cheer each other on.

Tyler was one of the first. Sixteen years old. Works at Southern States. Thinking about joining the Air Force. This was his third attempt at getting his license. His mom, Kristen, was right there with him. Frustrated, but hanging in. At one point, she muttered, “Soon as we get out of here, I’m going straight to the liquor store.” And I don’t think she was joking.

We met Sunny and Rusty, a married couple about our age. Sunny was multitasking, trying to track a Home Depot delivery on her phone while also figuring out how to reschedule a plumber who wasn’t coming anyway. They hadn’t planned to spend the whole day at the DMV either. But like the rest of us, they were there. And stuck. And making the best of it.

And then there was the man in the full-faced motorcycle helmet. Not on a bike. Not outside. Inside the DMV. Helmet still on, visor flipped up, pushing a walker like some post-apocalyptic road warrior just trying to renew his registration. He never took it off, like he knew something the rest of us didn’t. We kept our distance at first.

But as it turns out, the walker wasn’t for him. It was for his wife, one of the folks we’d gotten to know during the long wait. She was originally from Michigan and an absolute hoot. She was simply trying to drop the hyphen from her last name. That’s it. Not getting divorced. Not mad at her husband. She loved the guy. She just liked her maiden name better.

Apparently, though, removing a hyphen from your name at the North Carolina DMV requires roughly the same amount of documentation as a passport application and the patience of a monk.

“You can’t make this stuff up,” she said, shaking her head.

And none of us doubted her.

Somewhere around hour four, things started to get a little loopy. That’s when a guy walked out of the building wearing a T-shirt that said something along the lines of, “Sorry I’m sexy, but I might just be a big fat tub.” Or maybe it said chub. Honestly, none of us are quite sure. We were getting pretty punchy by then. But whatever it said, it sent Sunny, Rusty, and the rest of us into one of those tired, full-belly laughs you only get when your patience has completely worn through.

To make it even better, the guy kinda looked like the DMV commissioner, whose photo we’d just seen online because, at that point, we were looking for someone to complain to. There was even a sign on the wall with the commissioner’s hotline. So I figured, what the heck, and gave it a call.

Disconnected. Of course

I did take the opportunity to call one of our elected representatives in the state house and let him know of our travail and asked him if he could do anything about it for future generations! We shall see on that one

You can’t make this stuff up.

And again. You really can’t make this stuff up.

Now, credit where credit’s due. The DMV staff, all two of them, were remarkably kind given the chaos. You could tell they were doing their best in a system that wasn’t. They smiled. They answered questions. They didn’t lose their cool once, even when the waiting room felt like a middle school cafeteria on the last day of school.

Every time one of us got called back and escaped into the Promised Land of cubicle dividers and fingerprint scanners, we’d cheer and high-five like they’d just been pardoned. After a while, the whole room joined in. Clapping. Whistling. A couple of folks even stood up waved at the cheers! It was ridiculous. And perfect!

At one point, one of the two staff poked her head out and said, “I appreciate y’all having a good time, but if you could hold it down a bit while folks are taking their exams…”

We complied. Briefly. Only briefly

And that was the day we didn’t work in the yard. Didn’t work out. Didn’t watch the Giro. Instead, we spent six and a half hours in a government building with 40 strangers and came out a little more human for it.

The mission was accomplished. Tammy and I did get our licenses renewed. And when we were on our way out, we turned to the crowd, waved, and said, “So long, DMV friends. God bless you.”

And the whole room cheered.

We all laughed together.

A few things I’m still thinking about:

1. Some days don’t go the way you planned. You can either fight it the whole way, or look up and realize there might be something worth seeing in the mess.

2. Most people are better than we give them credit for. We pass by folks every day without a second thought, until a long wait or a shared delay forces us to look each other in the eye. And when we do, we usually find something good.

3. Loving your neighbor doesn’t always look heroic. Sometimes it just means laughing with strangers, sharing frustration with kindness, and choosing grace over grumbling.

So if your day gets hijacked, maybe don’t fight it so hard.

Look around.

Somewhere in the waiting, you might just find a story.

Truth be told, I’m glad we went to the DMV today!

Grace and Peace