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March 29 Hell On Earth“Hell is a place, a time, a consciousness, in which there is no love.”
~Richard Bach
“Hell is truth seen too late – duty neglected in its season”
~Troyan Edwards
"The first half of our lives is ruined by our parents and the second half by our children."
~Clarence Darrow
One of my favorite things to do, next to getting teeth drilled and paying taxes (oh crap, is it that time again already?), is having an up close and personal visit with the DMV; Department of Motor Vehicles or Dreadful Mutilating Vivisection.
Most, if not all of us, have been through the tortuous slaughter pens of these State run (or State overseen) soul sucking machines; loud obnoxious staff who when they are not treating you like the dirt one finds attached to shoes after crossing a dog walk, are too busy ignoring you because they are on one of their many, many breaks; loud obnoxious customers who are belligerent from the cradle and believe that the only way to experience life is to suck it out of others (these types often go into careers with the DMV); and loud obnoxious kids left to run around making migraine producing noise, by their lobotomized parents who grow old and die while waiting in the hopes of being called to the counter sometime during said children’s lifetimes.
For a long time, this was the yearly death march that I and others faced; a glimpse of hell on earth.
And then God spoke from the heavens and proclaimed:
“I HAVE SEEN THE EVIL UPON THE LAND AND THE WOE OF MY CHILDREN’S PLIGHT. I THEREFORE SHALL NOW MOVE MY MIGHTY HAND AND SEND FORTH MY SON; AL GORE, WHO WILL INVENT THE INTERNET, SO THAT MUCH OF THE POTENT STING OF THE DMV MAY BE SALVED AND A MEASURE OF JOY MAY ONCE AGAIN REIGN UPON THE LAND…
AND OH YES, I SHALL ALSO CREATE STURDY TACO CHIPS SHAPED LIKE CLAM SHELLS BECAUSE I REALLY REALLY HATE WEAK CHIPS THAT BREAK OFF IN THE SALSA BOWL OR CAN’T HOLD THE SALSA ON IT, AND THEN A MEASURE OF JOY MAY ONCE AGAIN REIGN UPON THE LAND…”
For about five years now I have enjoyed the yearly trip to the DMV which was as easy as a few simple clicks of the mouse. No more lines, noise, migraines or missed birthdays. Now I would have to travel no further than my desk; dress in nothing more than my tidy whities; and do it all while drinking a beer and eating sturdy clam shaped taco chips with the salsa neatly suspended in its cup like shape (THANK YOU GOD).
This year however, I found myself unfortunately and unavoidably in need of a trip to the Klingon Dilithium mines of Rura Penthe.
My son, Captain Adventure, decided that it was finally time to get his drivers permit. This involves taking a written test that has to be taken at the DMV. And so, with great promises made to myself of tasty rum drinks to follow later if I endure this hated sojourn, my DNA recipient and myself set off.
Upon pulling into the DMV parking lot, I was struck by the fact that there didn’t seem to be an army of cars either in the parking lot or on line for vehicle inspection (another ghastly tale for another time). This was really odd seeing that it was the last week in the month and it is the nature of drivers to wait until the last possible moment to re-inspect, re-register or any of that other nasty fare found on the DMV menu. My past experience taught me that to wait ‘till the last days of the month was to kiss your loved ones goodbye and to look long and hard at your children so that if and when you ever returned, you could easily spot the multitude of changes that would occur to them during your absence.
Walking inside the DMV, I found much the same. My son got in line with his 964 items of identification while I parked my glutes into a chair in the back, so that I could observe what other changes may be in store. I noticed that while the amount of players may have been scaled back, the show did go on and it played out the same tune that I remember, but it was a somewhat softer rendition. All of the afore mentioned obnoxious types were in attendance, but I have to admit that they seemed to move through the meat grinder at a more acceptable pace. I’m sure the fact that I was an observer and not a victim also made the scene seem less harsh.
Just when I was beginning to think that things here were not so bad anymore, my son staggered out of the classroom. His eyes were wide with disgust and his mouth was gapping as if stuck open after a horrible scream. He looked over at me and said,
“OH MY GOWD, CAN WE PLEASE GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!”
As I lead the way out, I couldn’t help but crack a smile; I knew that unlike my generation who had to fight the great dragon for many years, my son is a product of the Internet generation and very soon he too could enjoy the great cyber bypass to this horror play. This meant that although I, a product of the ‘inconsiderate generation’, was a tougher bird than these of the baton accepting generation, who seem to be coddled with much quicker pain free solutions.
Each generation blames the one that came before them for everything from mismanagement of the government to the poor custodianship of the earth; this too is a tradition, as this drama has been played out since the beginning of time. My son’s generation cries out to mine “You have made everything more difficult for us” and my generation responds back “You don’t have any idea what difficult is”.
Each one is wrong and each one is right.
Which brings me to my point; the greatest change comes from pain, but not all pain and suffering are things to alleviate. They can also be a tradition, a right of passage if you will, to pass along from one generation to the next, because if it makes you mad enough, you’ll do something to make it better.
That which does not kill you only makes you madder.
Just be prepared to defend your position to the deaf ears of the next generation to follow you.
And no matter what happens throughout the ages to the generations to follow, The DMV will always suck (So say'th the Lord).
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