Fun at the Bureau of Motor Vehicles

Posted: December 12, 2016 in Humor, Kids

Actually BMV here in Ohio. I think. Maybe it’s just the License Bureau. I’m getting a headache.

The names have been changed in the following story to protect the far from innocent. 

It seems like funny things always happen to me in the weirdest places, from the supermarket to the funeral home to the BMV and beyond. I already had a hilarious experience years ago at the BMV and wrote about it in a blog called Laughs at the License Bureau. Well, today it happened again.

I walked in and grabbed my number, accidentally pulling about 15 of them out of the little number thingy. I guess you’re supposed to sort of tear them off, but inexplicably I always pull them out like a roll of toilet paper, much to the amusement of awaiting customers.

So, after enduring the stares of several weary-looking people waiting their turn, I sheepishly sat down and awaited the call.

Finally, number 091 was called and I leapt to my feet as if I’d been chosen by Bob Barker on Wheel of Fortune. I may have done a somersault on my way to the counter, but that’s neither here nor there.

Note: Why in the hell don’t they have a television in the BMV waiting area? That’s bullshit, man.

Anyway, as I’m talking with the bored as hell pleasant lady at the counter, another woman walks up with a license that’s just been printed up. She yells a name I recognize, and the next thing you know a former student of mine is standing right beside me, looking at his license photo to make sure it’s OK. You have to know that this particular guy, now probably 35-years old, was not then nor is now the brightest student I ever had. As a history teacher he always reminded me a little of Paul Revere’s Ride – a little light in the belfry.

Anyway, at this point he tells the woman at the counter his photo is fine, then glances over and spots me. It was then that the following conversation takes place:

Matthew: “Mr. Shoe! Hey! What are you doing here?”

Me: “Ordering a banana creme pie to go.”

Just kidding. Actually I said this:

Me: “Uh, getting my tags renewed?”

Matthew: “I know, right? The government sucks, don’t it?”

Me: “Well . . .”

Matthew: “Hey, look! I’ve always had restrictions on my license. They’re not there anymore!”

I was sort of dumbstruck at this point, not sure of what to say with a row of DMV employees sitting 3-feet away. So . . .

Me: “Well, good for you buddy. Have a good day, man.”

Except he wasn’t finished. This was followed by a bear hug, after which he leaned on the counter and began talking to the woman waiting on me:

Matthew: “Mr. Shoe used to be my teacher. He kept me in line. He also showed us videos of David Letterman during class.”

Me: “Well, I actually taught him History too but . . .”

Matthew: “And he played REM and They Might Be Giants in class all the time!”

All the while the lady at the counter was sitting there with a disgusted look on her face, sure in the knowledge that she was looking at an example of a failed education system. And by the way, I’m talking about me, not Matthew.

Finally my man turned and left the premises, but not before pointing his thumb back in my direction and telling the awaiting throng this:

“I love that guy.”

The looks on their faces told me they were thinking this:

“I bet you do, since all you did in class was watch Letterman and listen to music all day.”

Anyway, I pay up and walk out, but not before one more encounter with my former student. As I stepped off the curb he drove by in a dilapidated old van, waving his paperwork as he yelled to me:

“Check it out! I’m finally allowed to drive at night! Woohoo!”

Sigh. You can’t make this stuff up, folks.


Gimme a holler.

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