Bmv Eval

Janis Joplin

Evaluation

Professor Bodi

English 111

10/9/2013

The BMV and Me

        I am eighteen years old. When I started driving, I was seventeen. Unfortunately, I had failed my test thrice before. I'd hate to admit that it's because of my driving skills, so instead I blame my nerves. I don't think many have their day brightened from a visit to the BMV, and I certainly hated every moment I was there. Waiting to take your test could be no big deal, or you might be freaking out, and then once you get into your car and you have that stranger judging your every move, watching you watch the road, testing your actions, it's to throw all experience out the window and do something silly. At least that was my case, and now the time has come again for me to once again face my nemesis-- the Ohio Bureau of Motor Vehicles. My mission is to renew my license plates, but can I possibly find my way through that maze of bureaucratic formality, unwashed geezers, belligerent clerks, and informational signs that reach the floor?

        Each BMV has its own spice, but after visiting three or four of them in Northwest Ohio, I realize that to get your problems solved expediently and void of further hassle, the office on Heatherdowns is the place to go. In contrast with other locations, this one has close to fourteen or more employees working at a time, which helps move the seemingly countless people among you faster. It serves functions such as driving tests, but these services come at a cost (and I'm not talking about taxes). Nowhere else have I ever met such a rude lot of people than at the Heatherdowns BMV. It's not just the workers, it's everybody! Scowls, frowns, and smells that you don't quite recognize fill the atmosphere, breeding more unhappiness. It sounds like a cheesy Twilight Zone episode, but not quite as interesting.

        Stepping through the heavy glass door, the first obstacle to get through is the massive potted plant that stands to your left that extends outwards. It's thick leaves prohibit easy movement and limits your view of the of the coming storm. After you awkwardly shift around it, you confront the reality that you'll be facing for the next half-hour of your life. It's an unexpected visit to the zoo, but you're in the same cage as the animals. I'd like to consider the BMV as one of the few places on earth that offers real unity, because nowhere else will you see such a large variety of people with one goal in mind, and that goal is getting through that line and leaving. Teenagers in high school, teenagers out of high school, tiny grannies, obese black guys, ghetto white chicks, the woman who looks like a Harvard lawyer, and the sporty old man who just finished a run and didn't bother to shower or change-- and then all of their children. That's right, they brought their kids, and they all happen to be ill-behaved toddlers. Good luck getting out of their without a lawsuit in your hands for accidentally kneeing one in the head when they darted passed.

        Every government building is based on the premise of function and information, and that information doesn't get much rawer than at the BMV. Dozens of posters and signs stretch along the walls, from massive fonts to tiny lines of fine print. It only takes a few glances for somebody to realize that most of these are promotional messages and have little importance, but the sheer amount of them is overwhelming. These huge, waxy posters with the wide-smiling folks behind the wheel of a car are so tacky and stereotypical that they take away from the actually useful knowledge. The signs that have handy wisdom to pass on to you are sprinkled in, like the, “We do not accept credit or debit cards for any fees!” sign, or the, “Do not enter this line for a State I.D without a legal copy of your birth certificate!” It's these precise tidbits that will ease your BMV pains, helping you avoid waiting in line for fifteen minutes before having a sign pointed at by an angry woman telling you that you made a grievous error.

        The lines have to be the best part of the whole experience though. Employees seem to love shuffling people through lines-- they do it all the time. There's really one main line that handles the majority of transactions and then there is an offshoot that's mostly for testing. If one were to say to themselves, “Okay, I'm here for a temporary driver's license,” the logical line would be the smaller one meant for testing, right? Well, after waiting a bit, they'll finally get to talk to the guys who wear the mock police uniforms. They explain, very dully, that simply walking in and taking the test is impossible when you don't have a birth certificate or State I.D, and they point to the big line. This was my story, by the way, three years ago. The big line was less than pleasant, and when I asked the woman about getting either of the two items for my temporary driver's license, she just looked confused and told me that I don't need either of those things to get my license. She pointed her boney finger towards the smaller line again and yelled for the next person in line before I had a chance to explain the paradox. After retrying with the testers, the same man seemed to not remember my face and started the test without any of the previously required documents. Perhaps he had heard me wrong before, but I'm quite certain that I spoke clearly.