Oh Bliss. Or not. I spent more hours at the DMV today than should be legal. And while I am desperately trying not to focus on the negative, and, you know, dwell on the blissful positive instead this year… it was an annoyingly long afternoon.
Some nice people, who made it clear that they were from California waiting to get their new plates, commented on how pleasant everyone was while waiting… Until one man rose from his chair in the front row of the waiting area and yelled at the top of his lungs. “This is Bu**S#%t.”
Someone whispered under their breath….”Tweaker.”
And then the tension rose back up in the room all over again. You could hear a pin drop. As if you could hear the digital numbers made out of red dots change from one digit to the next on the electronic display hovering over us on the wall. #248. I was #270 and it was a painful eternity in uncomfortable plastic chairs for my number to come up.
But then it did.
And boy did it!
My favorite number is 42. And as the woman behind the counter handed me my new license plates I saw those numbers shine up from the metal in her hands. Number forty two.
“That’s my favorite number!” I exclaimed out loud.
“It’s your lucky day,” The DMV worker dryly remarked as she ripped off the receipt and tucked it in the bag. Without looking me in the eyes she called the next red blinking number on the wall and pretended as if I disappeared.
I didn’t care. I had my number. And I was released from the DMV cage. But it reminded me of something important. It’s called Patience….not bliss. But sometimes one leads to the other.