Fulton in da House

...or garage. Yes, boys and girls, I began my day by paying my 2006 car registration. My car now proudly declares that I live in Fulton County...and I've got a whole in my checkbook to prove it. Ouch! Fulton car tags are a lot more expensive than Clayton. When the lady announced the total, I almost corrected her and said, "No, I'm not late, it doesn't expire until tomorrow. Surely that is the regular fee plus a late fee." But I refrained.

I then moved on to the DMV. Jolly good day. I got there 7 minutes after it opened and it was packed. Let me explain how this place works. You stand in a queue (Madonna's got nothing on me, I can pretend I'm English, too.) to get to the people who assign you a number. You tell them what you're here to do: renew, renew with change of address (me), take a written test, take a road test, etc. They assign you a number like, oh, let's say, "A014." After you get your number, you go sit in the chairs (like you're an extra on "ER"). And there you sit until they call your number and tell you which station to go to.

So, like I said, I got there just after the place opened. The chairs were 40% full and the queue had about 20 people standing in it. People must have been lined up outside before opening - and it was butt cold this morning.

After I got my number, I headed over to the chairs to sit behind "the hot guy." Naturally, I have to qualify that phrase because it wasn't so much that he was actually hot hot, but just that he was the hottest guy in the DMV at 9:20 this morning. (Actually, he kinda reminded me of Jr Bourne, which is why I noticed him in the first place. I do think Jr Bourne is hot, hot, hot and, um hot.) The "hot" guy was dressed well. He had on a suit and a dress coat. More guys should wear dress coats, they look so good. Anyway, enough about the hot guy.

So, I'm sitting in chairs and they keep calling out random numbers: "A002", "B004", "G702", "0984", etc. I never figured out the numbering system. I did, however, have the overwhelming urge to yell out "BINGO!" a couple of times. I wonder what they would have done? Sure someone else has done that. It also crossed my mind to run screaming to my station when they finally called my name as if I'd just been selected to be a contestant on "The Price is Right." Again, surely someone has done that before? Or maybe I was the only one in that room playing TPIR theme music in my head each time they called out a new number.

The lady who took all my info was new. She was being trained by a guy who'd done it for a while. She wasn't familiar with the screen layout, yet. She'd ask me a question, "Address?" I'd answer, she'd begin typing and he'd ask all kinds of other questions. I answered, but it got her all kinds of confused. She finally told him to shut up, she'd ask all the questions at her own pace. The best thing is that I got to renew my license for ... 10 years!!!! I don't have to go back until I'm in my 40's! Woo to the hoo. Except, I probably won't live in this place for 10 years, so they just suckered me out of an extra $10. Woo to the boo.

The new lady released me and said they'd call my number again to take my photo. Remember, I'd been watching the "hot guy" go through this. He sat back down for about 10 minutes before they called his number a second time. I figured that I had enough time for a potty break. (Gee, thanks H&B, did we need that much detail? Yes, keep readin'.) What I neglected to tell you before is that when they call out numbers, you can hear it from across the parking lot. Since the bathroom was inside the building, I assumed that I'd be able to hear my number called from in there. Nope. They must have sound proofed that puppy, can't hear nothing. So I step out of the bathroom, walk over to the chairs and hear ... my name being yelled out. Wha? I thought they only called out numbers?

I got all frazzled. How embarrassing to have to be called up by name at the DMV. The lady taking photos, getting signatures and fingerprints was also training a new girl. But she wasn't letting her trainee do the work. She was no-nonsense. She barked out, "Place your left index on the red light." Me: "Huh?" Sergeant DMV: "Place your left index finger on the red light...to your left." (I guess now would be a good time to tell y'all that I don't really know my left from my right. I have to really think about it and when I'm under pressure like this I always go the opposite direction. Every fiber of my being thinks the left side of my body is the "right" side and vice versa.) So already being frazzled, she was also playing on my biggest weakness. I must have looked like a moron. I seriously had to say, "That's this side," and hold up my left hand.

Somehow I got through the left/right index finger situation and was able to coherently sign my name. My photo ... it didn't turn out as well as the signature. Is it just me, or is picking out what to wear a big deal? For years, I always wore navy or green in photos. Then my mother convinced me that I looked best in red. So for the last 15 years, I've worn a red shirt in all my photos. I decided to go back to green this morning. I also decided not to wear a turtle neck. And for some stupid reason, I wore my hair straight. I know that I don't like photos of myself with straight hair. But I had to wear my hair straight for a photo that will stick with me for ... 10 years. What a dork. A flat haired dork. With weird spaces in her bangs. ARGGGGGGGG!