With my birthday
approaching, it was time to get my new driver's license picture
taken, so I drove up Ogontz Ave. (way up---it was further than I
thought) to the PennDot office, handed my paperwork to the
receptionist and got a ticket informing me I was now Customer Number
A155 and would probably be waiting about twenty-five minutes.
There were fifty chairs in
the waiting area by the picture-taking desks and there may have been
six that did not have butts in them. I commandeered one (an empty
chair, not a butt), and surveyed the landscape.
There were two camera
stations. The one on the left was manned by a woman in a full Muslim
niqab, and she was so tiny and she was covered by so much fabric
that I wondered whether there actually was a woman in there somewhere
rather than some animatronic device that simply moved the acres of
clothing around and made human voice noises. Above her was an
electronic screen informing the waiting public that she was now
serving Number A137.
The station on the right
was staffed by a large woman. She was so large, in fact, that my
first thought about her was that, if any substantial portion of her
was actual muscle mass, she would be in a position to challenge
Michael Oher (to whom she bore a superficial likeness) for his
position as left tackle on the Superbowl Champion Baltimore Ravens.
It did not take long to realize, however, that the muscle mass was
lacking. Most NFL left tackles are a lot like aircraft carriers but
are much more nimble. She too resembled an aircraft carrier, but
with none of the quickness.
As I arrived, her
electronic message board indicated she was helping Number A136.
However, she immediately arose, proceeded into the back room, and her
message screen went blank. Oh, dear. Had she left the building?
Had she gone home for the day? Were we now reduced to just one
camera station staffed by six yards of worsted wool that might or
might not have a little Muslim lady inside it?
I sat. I waited. Ten
minutes later, the aircraft carrier returned, holding a roll of
scotch tape, which took her another four minutes to open and insert
in her dispenser. Mystery solved. Her message board then lit up and
she continued her transaction with Customer Number A136.
The mini-Muslim was still
working on Number 137. I had been in the house for fourteen minutes
and I was still the eighteenth person in line. I began to suspect my
wait might exceed twenty-five minutes.
The joint was devoid of
architectural nuance and the decor was minimal. You would think
there might be a photo of the Governor or a few pictures of
waterfalls or mountaintops or another natural wonder found somewhere
in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. Nope. Nothing like that.
The only things on the
walls were six large posters, identical, each proclaiming the house
rules in a bold black capital-letter font I remember seeing a lot of
in ”Triumph of the Will.”
NO EATING
NO DRINKING
NO SMOKING
NO CELL
PHONES
Gambling was permitted, I
suppose, though I didn't really see anything to bet on.
There was a white dropped
ceiling made out of the same stuff they pour coffee into at WaWa.
The walls were a uniform, washed-out pastel blue. The floor?
Linoleum, of course--- the Muzak of floor coverings. I've been in
nicer rooms. In fact, I've been interrogated by police in nicer
rooms.
Several minutes passed.
Then, almost simultaneously, both message boards flipped. The
aircraft carrier was now serving A138 and the niqab was working on
A139. Progress!
There were at least a
hundred fifty people in the place seeking learners permits, driving
tests, ID cards or (like me) driver's license pictures, and since we
were not allowed to eat, drink, smoke or use our cellphones, well,
that list pretty much exhausted the universe of
killing-time-at-PennDot behavior any of us could imagine, so we all
just sat quietly and waited for the universe to end. I didn't see
anyone doing charcoal sketches of our little outpost and I didn't see
anyone writing their memoirs. No one was folding origami paper into
a swan and no one was doing yoga. No one was holding a book or
newspaper---not one person out of a hundred fifty was reading. I had
brought some Alexis de Tocqueville along for a laugh, but never
cracked it.
I did allow myself to
speculate briefly on what de Tocqueville would have made of this
scene and decided he would have attributed it to the influence of
lawyers on the American experiment. He liked American law and
lawyers in a general way, but he also saw their downside. He would
have recognized the PennDot-ization of America as one of the perils
embedded in our founding.
A half hour had passed.
It seemed likely I would soon be 15th in line, or even
14th, but my best guess was a total wait time of two and a
half hours. I leaned over to the woman sitting next to me. “I'm
ditching,” I said, “so if your number is above A155, you just
moved up a slot.” She smiled ambiguously, which meant she either
had moved up a slot or she thought I might be a psychopath.
Walking out the door, I
glanced back. Today PennDot, tomorrow Obamacare, I thought. Five
years from now, this is what doctor's offices will be like too.
Copyright2013MichaelKubacki
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