As I was returning home from a camping trip in beautiful Canaan Valley, WV, a police officer in Thomas pulled me over to inform me that my registration sticker was out of date.  Turns out it my registration was paid/current and someone must have helped themselves to my sticker.  The kind officer (seriously, the guy was respectful the whole time and a great ambassador for our state in a place that gets lots of traffic from the country/world), issued me a warning and sent me on my way.  Now, all I had to do was hit up the DMV and pay an easy 5 bucks for a new sticker and be back in business. Sounds easy - right?

My first mistake was having any sort of faith in our DMV and that it would operate in any sort of semblance of an organization that gave 2 craps about its customers.  My second and third mistakes were having 2 kids and groceries accompanying my escapades (my bad).  The parking lot was full and I slid into the last legal (?) parking space available.  Slightly less optimistic, I made my way into a line of about 20 people around 11:15 to get my paperwork and ticket number.  At 11:29, I was under the false impression that I had received a ticket that noted the order I was based on check-in time (more on that later).  I preceded to camp the myself and the kids on the floor and drain my phone battery trying to keep them from realizing the craptastic situation I had ushered them into.

B263.  This was my ticket number.  But why the letter at the front I thought?  I concluded that this was to help discern which desk folks were supposed to go to.  Then another thought occurred.  This place is absolutely packed to the gills.  Most people are probably throwing $20-60 a transaction for renewals, vanity plates, etc.  I’m no business grad but simple supply and demand would seem to indicate that more than 3 or 4 of the 9 available teller windows. 9! The logic would seem to indicate that if you consistently are running at beyond capacity (and making decent sum per transaction), you would want to your operation closer to available capacity to meet customer demand.

During the first 2 hours of waiting I experienced a myriad of feelings.  Happiness that I had a good day to this point and that my kids were not trying to kill each other. Concern that my kids revolt and that my groceries would spoil.  Pain that occurred as a result of sitting on a concrete floor for 2 freakin’ hours.  Hopelessness as I realized I couldn’t stay any longer and save my groceries and lunch and kid’s naps.  Defeated, I made my way to the door and happened into a friend.  He said that he’d checked in 30min before I did and would graciously give me a call when it was finally his turn.

Kids home and alternate care for halflings found.  I make my way back to the DMV by the 3 hour waiting period mark.  I sit down and try to make the best of my situation. “B252,” the automated voice calls out.  The thought then enters my mind, “Man, they seem to be calling out a lot of ‘A…’ or ‘E…’ but not many ‘B…’.  Oh well, must be some weird computer assigning of numbers that jump around - right?  Well, a nice gentleman from Preston County sits beside me and I noted that his ticket says “A039 2:14pm Renewal.” At that moment I realized that my ticket referenced “Registration and Title” and, thus, the “B” designation I concluded.  

2:37pm. That’s the last time I had coherent thought.  This also coincides with the time that my new friend from Preston County got called up.  Wait?? Are you serious?!?!?!?! My anal-retentive world is up in flames.  How could this be? It was all well in good when all these folks were sitting in the same sinking ship but now, you’re telling me there’s a hierarchy based on what you need completed (add Lewis Black finger pointing as needed)?!?!?!?!  I sit there shaking for the next hour.

3:18pm.  A full 4 hours after I had arrived at the DMV, I finally get called.  I can’t even muster a hospitable greeting at this point. “Hello,” she says.  ”Why is my time (or any other persons time) as a ‘B’ person any less important than someone with an ‘A’ or ‘E’ designation,” I try to calmly convey as I pass along all appropriate paperwork and 5 bucks.  ”It’s a computer automated system,” she conveys. “Then why are people with ‘A’ designation being cycled through in less than 30 minutes and I’ve been here for over 4 hours,” I reply?  Let’s just say that no adequate response was given at this point in time.  $5 was given, a registration sticker was provided, and I somehow ended up at home.

Why in the crap would you discriminated against because you had a different request??  It shouldn’t be rocket science distinguish between a few different motor-vehicle related needs.  This is my humble meltdown City of Morgantown. There has to be a better, easily achievable way - right?