A trip or 5 to the DMV

When we moved to Maryland, there were all kinds of fun things to do. Get settled in our dumpy apartment infested with Rhaphidophoridae, find jobs, and get our cars all legalled up.

So, Hub and I walk into a bar the MVA (which is Marylandish for DMV - or MVD if you only speak Arizonian) and the bartender lady at the triage desk says what are you in for? what are you in for?

We explain that we are here to get our cars properly registered and get driver's licenses.

Now, this is not the first time we've done the MVA dance. Oh, no. We have been here several times before.

For many hours.

With an 18-month-old.

Waiting for them, as well as the lien holder for Hub's car, to get their collective shits together.

This would be another episode in disappointment as far as registering his car was concerned.

Which did not make Hub happy.

At all.

Then we move along to the driver's license portion of our trip.

Whee.

Hub goes first while I wait off to the left.

Now, Hub has a suffix on his name. It is numeric. Typically numeric suffixes are expressed as Roman Numerals such as IX, XII, VIII, etc.

Apparently, the social security office does not like these Roman expressions and Hub's social security card just uses regular old numbers (9th, 12th, 8th, etc).

In order to be granted a driver's license, we must present 2 forms of official identification.

Hub presents said identification.

Keep in mind, Hub has been to the MVA many times, only to be given the bureaucratic run around and sent home in frustration, task not accomplished.

The clerk at the window informs him that his forms of identification do not match.

Hub is perplexed.

"Huh...?"

His Social Security card uses boring old regular numbers in his suffix, while his AZ driver's license uses the fancified Roman Numerals.

i.e. his Social Security card says he's the "10th" (he's not the 10th, but I'm not telling how many he is) and his AZ driver's license says he's "X". Thus, they do not match.

At this point, Hub has an absolute fucking meltdown.

He starts cursing at the lady asking her what the fuck her problem is. Clearly they are 2 different expressions of the same thing.

Etc. Etc.

Shockingly, the clerk does not become any more helpful.

Then he essentially says "Fuck this." Collects up his materials and angrily leaves to go outside and smoke (we had been waiting inside for a loooonnnnggg time).

And the clerk calls the next customer in line.

Guess who that is?

Yeah.

Fuck.

So I go up there with my stuff...understanding Hub's irritation, but nonetheless needing my own driver's license.

She evaluates my materials. Deems me acceptable. And then asks for payment.

Fuck.

Hub is the only one with a job at this point. I have no money.

Hub is nowhere to be found.

I now have to contort myself into freakish positions trying to get a cell signal to call my livid mate so he can come back to the very window from which he angrily stalked so he can pay the unhelpful clerk for my driver's license.

Which may or may not have been awkward.

Ahem.