The Wisconsin Department of Transportation (the DOT, DMV, or Pit of Lost Souls, whatever one chooses to call it) was hidden behind a strip mall in my town, on an odd road neither of my parents used all that much. I honestly had no clue of its existence, having gone through the eighteen years of my life without any need to enter such a building before...
At eight thirty, the time the DOT opened on the fateful day that was my 18th birthday, my mom (also a frequenter of Daily Kos), my younger sibling and I pulled into the driving lot. Mom winced at the amount of cars there already. I was not deterred by this, having mentally prepared myself earlier for a soul-destroying four hour long wait.
Upon entering the too-clean smelling building, the first thing I noticed was a sign remarking that the DOT was understaffed, so the wait lines were going to be longer. I noted this with interest. There were five booths on the opposite end of the room, stretching across the room's length. Only three of the booths had humans behind them, arranged in a one-three-five pattern.
There were four people in front of us. Mom glanced around the counter, looking for the proper forms. She found one that was a form for driver's license/identification card. I did not want a driver's licence, as I cannot drive. (Driver's ed cost $600 some dollars in my area, and that would eat up about 75% of my father's paycheck.) Mom made sure to check the box that said 'identification card' and she checked it boldly so that the check stood out. She filled out most of the form, being the one in the household with the nicest handwriting. I signed my name with my snooty artist's signature where needed.
Now my Mom is a paranoid woman. She went on the DOT's website earlier and looked up all the things I needed to prove that I wasn't a terrorist or illegal alien trying to get an ID from the government and do...er, illegal stuff. I needed a birth certificate, my social security card, and a piece of mail addressed to me. For the mail, I brought in a pay stub from the technical college I attend. I also brought my school ID in case there were any doubts of who I was.
When we were called up to a booth, the woman asked for the needed papers. She glanced at my social security card, and informed us that it was not valid unless I signed it. Since I'd just turned 18, it hadn't been signed yet. I had no problem with this, and signed the card. The woman then took my college pay stub and glanced it over.
"We can't accept this," she told us.
"What." Mom replied curtly. "I thought it said on the website that any mail will do,"
"Well, not any mail will do," the woman replied. "Things like utility bills,"
"She doesn't have any utility bills in her name," Mom muttered as the woman flagged down a supervisor.
Luckily, an exception was made. The woman gave us a piece of paperwork, and Mom waved it aside.
"We already filled that out," she said sharply.
"Alright," the woman shrugged, directing us to go sit among a labyrinth of chairs in the center of the room.
We waited, not for a very long time. I got my picture taken, and tried my best not to look intoxicated. After about five minutes, we were called up to another booth.
We handed the second woman the needed papers, and she looked over my college pay stub.
"This mail isn't acceptable," she announced.
"The supervisor approved it," Mom replied.
"The one in the red shirt?" the woman asked, unconvinced.
"Yes." Mom stated tersely.
"Well, he didn't sign it," the woman retorted, typing some things in furiously. After a few minutes, the woman turned to us.
"That will be $28.00" she said.
For half a second, I wondered if Mom would punch her.
"We want an identification card," she said calmly. "That should be free,"
"Well, you didn't fill out the right paperwork," this woman said. Mom pointed to the box that was heavily checked, stating Identification. "That's not the right paperwork."
"Then give us the proper paperwork," Mom told the woman icily. She walked off to do so, and Mom muttered angry things about poll taxes.
The woman came back with another sheet of paper and circled the part that needed to be filled out. Mom began filling it out.
"She needs to fill it out," the woman stated sharply, pointing to me. Mom ignored her and handed me the sheet to sign.
"Fantastic," I murmured softly, in a pleasantly sarcastic tone.
"What?" the woman asked.
"Oh nothing, I was just muttering," I told her.
"Oh. Don't do that." the woman ordered me.
I was a bit appalled by that, but at that time, I wanted out of the building. So, I signed the paperwork, accepted the receipt printed out and Mom, my sister and I hauled ourselves out of the cursed building.
Thinking back on the experience, I would like to note some things.
First of all, the correct form was probably handed to us by the first woman, which Mom declined. That could have been our fault. However, would it have killed the DOT to have the correct forms available to the public on the counters, where the other forms are? A little labeling would have saved them and us a lot of time.
Another thing that interested me was the atmosphere of the building. When I say 'soul-destroying line' I am only being slightly facetious. The building was silent, save for some country music playing softly by the second woman's booth. Mom and I chatted while in the line, but no one else spoke, unless it was for business, and this speaking was done quietly and discreetly. I got the vibe that we weren't supposed to talk, or seem animated. Of course, Mom didn't care.
The third thing I would like to mention was that I didn't get a card. A minor annoyance, but an annoyance still. When I needed a student ID card for my college, I went the the main desk, said 'Hey, could I have a Student ID card?' they lead me to a window, sat me down, asked me for my ID number, took a picture of me, pressed some buttons and SHAZAM I had a shiny new ID card. My high school had a similar policy. The machines are smaller than a coffee maker.
So why couldn't the DOT do that?
I suppose a state ID is more important that a student one, but still. Irritating.
All in all though, I will have my magical, state issued ID mailed to me soon. This means, I shall now be able to exercise an aspect of my adulthood I've been wanting to do since I started high school: vote.
If I'm lucky, my first voting exercise will be the election to recall Scott Walker.
Still... getting a tattoo probably will be easier.