I've come to the conclusion that the State of Louisiana is like a rather large retarded child on the toilet with toilet paper in one hand but wiping it's ass with the other. Point is, somewhere, there's a synapse that is misfiring badly. The Problem is...it's the only one that bothers to fire at all.
I've had blocks on my license for awhile now. It all started when I killed the insurance on my Camaro. The way I figured it, the thing was parked and it wasn't moving. I was aiming to sell it and paying insurance on it was me throwing money away on it. After careful review of the situation, I'd finally killed it. The problem was that I hadn't forked over the license plate to it. It would have helped if someone had simply told me that I had to do so. When I finally did, again, I wasn't told anything else.
The next block came when I'd made a late payment on the insurance to another car I own. Again, no information given to me about it.
Now, these were the only two of which I'd known. Tax time was the time for me to get all of that straight and I wanted to do just that. I had no other plans aside from getting this mess sorted out because, until I did, I wouldn't be able to renew this year. The inspection on this other car had run out. It was literally one day over. There was a surprise in store and it wasn't until I took it to be inspected that I found out...the license plate sticker was also expired.
The way I had it figured, it was all good. I had other dealings with the D.M.V. to sort before getting that straight. It provided another reason not to procrastinate.
Here's where the whole thing went south. You see, I am the legal owner of the car, however, the situation is only this way because it was the only way that Lycan could drive to work legally. We worked it all out and I'd take the car for my bi-weekly grocery trip (and other things here and there), I'd buy my own gas for the car, Lycan would take care of the maintenance and, in short, we'd all share this thing. No problem.
Well, I ran the whole thing past my local D.M.V. and they give me the number to call. I call...busy. I call again...busy. I call again...I get through but get transferred to a busy signal. I call again...same result. I call again and finally get transferred to some automated voice that tells me my wait time will be six minutes and when my waiting is over, I get some chick with a nasty attitude. This is when I'm informed that there is a [i]potential[/i] third block on my license. This is the bad news portion that only gets somewhat worse...more on that later. The good news is that my estimate of over $300 is way off. If all goes well I'll be only paying $180. This woman informs me that, since my insurance company is on the other side of town and I'll be on foot for this journey, there's no way she's waiting and I'll HAVE to call back. Her words, not mine. After having to explain to her what the hell is going on three times with HER becoming more and more irate at me, I just slap the phone shut. She's prove herself to be one of the most useless employees in the state.
I arrive at my house, pick up my insurance bill and run it like hell over to the insurance company's place, going through the next five call attempts before finally getting someone. While I'm there I am only told that I need the date of the reinstatement and if it's within a one-week time frame, I'm free and clear of another damn fine. Keep in mind, folks, these people get everything first. They get notified before I do of any discrepancy. Somehow, the insurance company or whomever gives these people their information didn't see fit to update them on this last bit and it is now my problem. Bullshit. The biggest mindfuck to this one is that this one dates back to last fucking April and now I have to clean up THEIR mess.
I pay the insurance, letting the agent know what the next person told me (and their disposition was far worse than the last operator...it's like they're having a shitty day and blaming it on me) and finally get a notice or reinstatement. Ok, now, the way I have it figured, all I have to do is run this bastard down to the D.M.V. and get them to fax this bastard to Lake Charles.
On my way back to the D.M.V. I talk to yet another ill-tempered operator who refuses to be of any help. Ok, let's get something straight here. I live where there is an office of the D.M.V. and, since the new police station was built (guess who they're attatched to?) they've upgraded almost everything. Instead of one person working there, they have three people so you would think ONE of them would know what the hell is going on. The next reinstatement office is in Lake Charles...about 45 minutes away from me...if I drive but with the car out and no reinstatement office, I'm assured rather rudely that it will take 48 hours to get my information updated just so I can pay out the money necessary to the damned D.M.V., get the blocks removed, get my tags renewed on the car, get the inspection updated and be on my way to go pick up food. Well, I don't have 48 hours and guess what? I'm about to resort to illegal means of getting this shit done. I swear to God that, if I have to, I'll drive that fucking car illegally to Lake Charles just to get this done. I go back into the D.M.V. only to find my next obstacle.
No, I don't have this mess sorted out. No one is telling me anything and I'm running back and forth through town (literally) trying to get this mess sorted out. They refuse to take my payment for the first two even though I don't have a third one. They asked for the date, I gave it to them, now they want ME to prove it when THEY have not updated the record. What the hell is wrong with this picture? You want the license? It's yours. You want the car? It's in your parking lot. You can have it, with my blessing. It's warmed up outside. I'm hotter than hell in the middle of a Louisiana August, I'm tired, I haven't been to sleep yet and all I want is to get the state off my damn back but these assholes won't let me so here, fax this to Lake Chuck so I can just go pick up my God of War Demo if nothing else. I need a killing spree stress reliever and God of War on PSP being an epic one man vs. Persia battle will do just that.
That's right! Send me your armies and I and I alone will see them decimated, broken and begging for an nonexistent mercy at my feet. Send your cyclops and your basilisk and I will have them serving my cats. I will bring about the fall of Persia and Babylon and then kick Zeus in the nuts just for good measure and then, I'll get my rocks off all over Aphrodite and her bunch. Tempt not this now violent soul, you swine!
It's not the form they need. Great. When I inquire as to which form they do need, they don't know.
Inefficiency at it's finest here, people. It's reared it's ugly head and by now, it's 10:30am. I'd started on my way at 8:00am to get this shit done and here it is, two hours later and it's still not done. I just want to scream and start a war right here. That's when the overwhelming calm comes over me. It's that dead calm that causes my eyes to no longer look at you...they now burn holes through you. I am now a Category 5 shitstorm...calm and focused at the center but reaching chaos and destruction outward. I make yet another trip to my insurance company and make one more call as I near their office. This time, after another five attempts (refer to the phone routine above if you've already forgotten it) I get through to someone who sounds like Peter Parker's Aunt May for all the world. Seeing as she has picked up and is nice I decide to use this deathly calm to my advantage and I run through the whole thing with her.
Finally, I've struck paydirt. She informs me that I need a copy of the insurance card from the reinstatement. When I explain that faxing it will take me 48 hours I don't have, she assures me of the exact opposite. She's vowed to do whatever it takes to get me back on the road. She gives me a number to send the fax...directly to her. We get it all out and faxed. By now, I have such anger in me that I'm literally just walking out in front of oncoming cars, flipping them off and listening to Dimmu Borgir. Run me over if you feel like it. I'll stand here while your front end caves. I don't know who you think you are, Mr. Self-Righteous Driver but you're about to learn that I am Hell; a miracle overloaded and I will not move. So don't honk at me because, right now, I'll kick your ass Darth Vader Style. That's right, sir, I will choke your ass down without so much as touching you.
Onward...my last trip to the D.M.V. I hit the ATM on the way...I'm going to need some cash for this one. I draw it out and continue. I grab my smokes from the car because I haven't had one in nearly three hours, I haven't slept, I haven't done jack shit but play a phone tag and paper chase with these two moronic agencies and it's no wonder I'm cranky. At this point, I'm tempted to find the first motherfucker that's holding and blaze up. I haven't done it in years but it might just calm me down completely. No, I have anger to take out on a horde of Persians...let's bottle it up, save it and unleash it in Biblical Proportions.
I call back over the five-time prerequisite and I get Pam again who updates the info, takes my payment and sends me on my way. She is now a saint in my book.
I go in, get the shit done, take the car back to get it inspected...it's now 11:10am and we get that done. I haul ass to Sulphur for my grocery trip and my first stop is GameStop to snag my copy of the demo...I pick up Manhunt 2 while I'm at it.
"You're picking the demo up for Damien?" the nerdy kid behind the counter asked me.
"Yeah." I said. I'm not in the mood for some nerd's bullshit
"You don't know him," he claims.
"We're the same guy."
"So you lie to people," he fires back, "you just go around lying all the time?"
At this rate, I just want to grab him by his fruity little ponytail and stuff his face into the opening of one of the many gaming consoles on display. While his head is stuffed firmly into one of the memory card slots, I'll spank his ass with one of the Guitar Hero guitars on display, completing his humiliation.
Misty overheard this kid's bullshit. I removed the earpiece and covered the mic.
"Dude, shut up!" a friend of his whispered, "You're pissing him off!"
"Kid," I said, "let me explain something to you. When you've been dead once and you came back on your own...when you've had convicted felons attempt to assault you and even try to kill you...I think you could call yourself anything you like, dig? Now, why not just ring up the games there and I'll be on my fuckin' way."
His eyes became like basketballs.
"Or do I owe you a fuckin' apology?" I asked.
I put the earpiece back in my ear, paid, grabbed my shit and flipped him off on my way out. Try that one again, smartass.
The Battle with the D.M.V. and the ponytailed gaming nerd put me so far behind that I had to shop hastily. There were quite a few items I didn't manage to grab this time but the sound of Persians suffering at my hands never sounded so good.
