The DMV Made Me A Believer.

I believe. In tiny miracles. Not in some greater being, or all-influential god. I believe in the universe. Karma. Positive energy. All that hippie stuff. I believe it and feel it.

Why?

Because I was in and out of the DMV in less than five minutes today. I mean, that’s one reason. There are so many other reasons that I believe in the universe, the least of which being that it always delivers.  Always.

I had prepared myself for the worst, because it was the DMV, a place of legends, and the source of countless clichés and unending emotional turmoil and historic time-sucking. Also, horrible photos. Right? Lordy.

miracles 2

But not today, universe. Not. To. Day.

Since everything related to official business in my life generally requires me to jump through a couple extra hoops these days, I had to go to the DMV to get a duplicate registration. Without hashing out the bizarro dirty laundry that still haunts me years after a divorce, I’ll just say I never received the little sticker thing and the actual paper registration after passing emissions and renewing online.

I just never got it. For the second year in a row. Despite having my home address on my registration. Good times. It’s fun.

So I was ready to be there for a while. I was ready to have a hard time parking. I was ready to need water, because I’d be there so long. I was ready to have to explain my story at least four or five times as I was directed to new lines and new windows. I was even ready for the inevitable small talk that may come with a shared empathy among everyone who was waiting – forever – to do their one thing.

But I was over-prepared. Because, none of that happened.

“Oh no!” the first guy I spoke with said to me after he asked why I was in line.

He motioned me to his computer. Checked my ID. Printed my registration. And I left.

WHAT?! What actually – just. What?!

This was not how the DMV goes. No one can explain their visit to the DMV in four sentences. Ever. I floated out, smiling. I don’t think that’s happened since I got my first driver’s license. Who floats out of the DMV?

“I do what I can with what I was given,” the guy said to me as he handed me my registration, and listened to me gush about how awesome he was.

He did more than print my registration. He blasted the DMV’s long-standing image of being slow, painful and unpleasant.

I’ll take it. Thanks, universe. And thanks sweet, DMV dude. You did a lot with what you were given.