Mixed Emotions at the RMV

Everyone has the same feeling about going to the RMV-pure and unadulterated dread. This is one brand whose equity has always been immersed in all things bleak and negative.
Like a well informed citizen who can’t tolerate waiting in lines, I checked the RMV Web site (a noble attempt to elevate the RMV brand but who’s kidding whom?) to determine how long the wait would be. Just like the certainty of death and taxes, there’s always a wait at the RMV. The Web site said 42 minutes. Not bad, I thought, I can handle this.
I arrive ten minutes later and my ticket tells me the wait is 57 minutes. I take a deep breath and feel brave as my eye surveys the filled benches, lines leaking outside the entrance and walls wallpapered with people from all ages and stages of life. My number is 287 and they are at 208. By the time the electronic voice bellows my number, one hour and 55 minutes have passed. I shake my head as I remind myself that I never expected a good experience at the RMV anyway. The clock of my emotions has advanced toward frustration and anger. As I walk toward the counter, I see a teenage boy jumping for joy and waving his licsense in the air while his proud father beams behind him. Everybody’s heads turned, smiling as the boy left. Now, that is joy at the RMV.












