You are all fired.   (random re me)

Get out of my fucking office, you are all fired. Except for you, and you. Every single one of my employees who I encountered today managed to infuriate me. My tax dollars at "work" my ass. I never thought I would say this, thanks to the self-perpetuating stereotype of government ineptitude, but my hero for this week is Marisol from Station #6 at the Beltsville Department of Motor Vehicles. And for what, you might ask? Being an island of shining competence in the ocean of apathy and sheer vogonic belligerence I have encountered recently. All the rest of you worthless sniveling wastes of my time get out of my sight and thank $deity that you still can. Also thanks for being the perfect example of entitlement breeding inefficiency and incompetence.

This morning I attempted to get some new stickers (they add 5hp each!) for my car. The special thing about these stickers, though, is that they make me less likely to get arrested. Most illegal things are easy to do. I, however, seem to have found one of the most difficult illegal things in the world to do. I bought a used car. From a guy who lives in Wisconsin. He financed his car through his credit union. In Michigan. Everything went smoothly, we had a perfect transaction, until I attempted to make this a legally recognized and sanctioned transaction.

I walked into the MVA with everything I need (or so I thought) to get temporary tags to get my vehicle inspected. I get there at 8:30 AM and there are about 200 people in line in front of me. Sigh. When I finally get to the front of the line (thank God I brought a book), the lady looks over my paperwork and, with a very satisfied tone of voice, informs me that my bill of sale "won't do at all", that I need an original, notarized one. Keep in mind that I just want to pay the lady $20 for temporary tags so I can get this thing inspected. I attempt to plead my case to the woman for a while, ending with an exasperated "Are you serious?!", to which she responds "Mmm, no, I don't like to joke around on Tuesdays." Argh.

Something good does come of this, however, the witch sends me to Marisol (see above) and I almost pass out from shock when I am treated with respect and again when she actually lifts a finger to help me instead of looking supremely satisfied because my paperwork is not in order. You, señorita, are my hero of the week.

What brought on this little essay, you might ask? I just spent approximately three hours of my life being bounced around from station to station inside a monolithic bureaucracy, the one that has personally affected me the most in recent memory. Never again will I set foot inside the Glen Burnie MVA.