Bothered

Have you ever noticed that there are certain places that NEVER seem to run at high levels of efficiency?
Like, you know, the Department of Motor Vehicles?? (They call themselves the Department of Public Safety now. HA.)
Let me tell you about my experience today.

So I went to the DPS last month to get my license. Blah de blah, everything was fine. I came home with a temporary license and went about my normal life. My regular license was supposed to come in 30-45 days but as time went by I noticed that it had not arrived.
Well a few days ago I was looking at the temporary license and figured out why. The mailing address listed there was my Portland address from over two years ago. I have NO idea how that happened. I'm not sure why the people at the DPS didn't catch it but I'm pretty sure the reason *I* didn't see it was because I was super sick at the time.
So.
I called the DPS.
And the lady I talked to informed me that I could not make the mailing address change over the phone. I would, in fact, have to come all the way back in and make the change in person. To which she added, "MWUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" (Ok, maybe not...)
But she did tell me I wouldn't have to wait in line.
*Dance, dance, happy singing, throwing of confetti and general fiesta*
No waiting in line like a generic cow awaiting slaughter. No standing against the inevitably white-washed wall, surreptitiously sneaking glances at the large, sweaty man behind you wondering if he is, in fact, the man your mother warned you about.
Joy of all joys!
So with my mother in tow I went to the DPS office today.
And was a little shocked to be given the exact same forms and directions as the person in front of me, along with a little blue ticket that had the number 17 on it.
So shocked was I that I immediately sat down like the good little cow that I was supposed to be.
Then the fire started.
It was a slow fire. The kind that stirs in your stomach and begins to creep up your esophagus until it's right behind your eyeballs and you can't tell whether or not the room has gone red or you're having an aneurysm.
So I cut in line and asked the not-so-nice lady with the preliminary forms about my phone call and promise of no line.
And she gave me the look.
The "one eyebrow raised, who-do-you-think-you-are" look. And very "politely" informed me that I was quite wrong.
And once again, I became an anonymous cow.
So I sat. And seethed.
I am an excellent seether.
I inwardly raged against the inept DPS agents and their lies and trickery, I raged against the token woman with the kid who won't stop crying, I raged against the token foreigners who didn't bring the right documents and can't understand why they're being sent home. I even raged against the tiny TV and the Weather Channel and their idiotic obsession with tornadoes. And what's with all the signs around the room? Like, "Please refrain from cell phone use during processing." "Processing??" First a cow, then some sort of unhealthy and disgusting cheese?
When it was finally my turn to see the actual DPS agent, I told her I simply needed to update my mailing address.
She told me to take off my hat and get ready to take a new picture.
What?
That's right. A whole NEW license instead of just an update to the last one.
And there was a REASON I was wearing the hat, people.
So instead of a no-line, 10 minute, divinely-orchestrated DPS dream trip, what I got was a 45 minute wait and a new license that will, no doubt, exquisitely display my unwashed hair and makeup-less face for all the world to see.
Not to mention the sweet and silent urge to pee that had crept over me while I sat there seething.
I have decided that I do NOT like the DPS.