Reason # 2,591 To Go On a Tri-State Killing Spree
I turn twenty-five in little over a weeks time. My years of virility are officially over, to think that only my mattress was truly able to appreciate the sexual prowess of Bob. As with most depressing events--death, taxes, fellatio from homeless transexuals named Shondra--the government feels the need to kick a man while he is prostrate and suffering from herpes, with that in mind I headed to the DMV.
I was willing to allow for an hour or so to renew my license, which seemed like a reasonable amount of time. I arrived and discovered twenty people waiting, a feeling joy swelled in my heart as even the most inept employees, who numbered six in all, could process twenty people in sixty minutes. Of course expectations, be they great or otherwise, are not to be had at the DMV; it is a bastion of inefficiency, a dullard's sanctuary, a place that pisses me the fuck off.
I waited for forty five minutes, watched three people be processed and was told that the printer was malfunctioning making it impossible to process license renewals for the rest of the day. It seems the octogenarian in charge was unable to figure out the problem, meaning that the printer most likely needed only to be unplugged and plugged back in, however being the senior in charge, not to mention in need of immediate funeral planning, he decided to order a new printer from offices located west of Columbus (FYI--when the DMV says west of Columbus what they really mean is Japan).
Rage is a funny thing: some see red; others feel blue; I opted for a little of both and cried a single tear, dropped my waiting-in-line number and shot the bird to the entire room.