Department of Maximum Vexation

Today, I finally decided to take my California driver's license test. By law, I should have done it months ago, but for those of you who knew my work schedule for the last five months, this was basically impossible. I worked on every day that the DMV was open and I always worked later than they were open. Sure, I could have done it when I first got here, but I had exploring to do. Looking back, I think I made the right decision.

So, I drove off to the DMV and it didn't take long, even in mid-day traffic. The parking lot was busy, but not crowded to capacity. I took my spot and walked to the door, but before I could get there I was almost hit by a car. Had the driver waited another instant, I would be writing this article from a hospital somewhere in Hollywood. I have a feeling that the small Asian girl taking that test had just been told she had failed, assuming that nearly killing a pedestrian IN THE DMV PARKING LOT counts against you. Also, I'm not sure how many of you know me, but I'm over six feet tall, two hundred pounds. I'm not the easiest person to miss, let alone in a place where you're supposed to be going slow anyways. Most people would see this near-accident as a bad omen, but I had work to do, so I sucked it up and went inside.

The Los Angeles Department of Motor Vehicles has, for a long time, been an object of scorn. If you have ever seen some film, TV show or advertisement which jokes about the inefficiency of the DMV, the people who wrote that particular piece of media were probably talking about a place like the one I went to in Hollywood. The jokes... are sadly based in reality. Upon entrance, you need to wait in line, get paperwork, fill out the paperwork, get in line again, get a number then wait. And wait. AND wait. I probably sat in the waiting pen for over an hour before my number was called, though I've heard of people waiting over three hours on busy days.

Surrounding me was probably one of the weirdest assortments of humanity I have ever seen. Barely legal immigrants, smooth-talkers who thought they could get by the system with a few kind words, obvious drug users, the inconceivably stupid, the occasional attractive person (GASP!), those who haven't been to the DMV since the 1950's, rockers, indie kids, the extremely handicapped, those who speak no language offered at the DMV and a gaggle of other miscreants. It was, for all intents and purposes, a clusterfuck and smack dab in the middle of it all was yours truly. I was forced to sit on the edge of a row, next to the woman who didn't seem to realize that her dress/tarp was falling down not because it was loose, but because of the continuous pressure from the rest of her body. I prayed and prayed it would stay up, lest I experience the same effect as opening the ark of the covenant.

When my number was mercifully called, I stood and ran to the counter a little faster than I should have. The woman was able to process me quickly and sent me to take my written test. If you have an out of state license which is still valid when you try to get your license in California, you need to take the written test only and you get your license. This is good news for me and all those who do not want to hear the horror stories of Andrew Gutin trying to parallel park.

I walked over and got my photo taken, then proceeded into the examination room. Two young Latin girls sat behind the counter, handing out tests and correcting the ones they had collected by hand. As I waited to get my test, five people failed. Six questions and you were done. At least three of the people didn't even get past the first page of questions before they'd failed. I began to worry at this point, having only given cursory glances at areas I needed to review in the driver's handbook.

When I finally got to take the test, it seemed easy enough. A few questions caused me to think for a bit, but I was done in under ten minutes. As I walked up to get my test corrected, the two people in line both failed. One person had failed for his third time that day. I'm going to repeat that last part, just so you get how bizarre this is to me. The man failed the driver's test three times that day. He didn't want to go home and I guess the previous two times hadn't been enough of a clue as to his cognitive abilities. The girl took my exam and got out her red pen. It seemed like she was waiting to draw blood from my exam, to kill my driving hopes. She made two scratches on the first page and my heart sank. She turned it over and made one more mark. SUCCESS! She handed me a paper and smiled, pleased, it seemed, that somebody could pass. I smiled too, knowing that I'd actually done better in California than in New Jersey when I'd originally gotten my license. I pretended to study the information on the sheet while inside I was giddy. To my left, an older woman got the first six answers on her test wrong, and I had to get out of there before I was forced to watch more failure in action.

Leaving the room, I was happy. Then I noticed the room full of people. It was almost 4 o'clock and there were still over a hundred people waiting to be seen. At the same time, a group of five employees sat around a coffee maker joking about something, none of them making any effort to help the situation. They seemed oblivious to it all, as if they weren't standing in the same office as me. I'm going to sound like a broken record for saying this, but come on. You know your office gets made fun of for being slow. That's like the LAPD giving rewards to officers who target minorities. It just doesn't help your predicament, but whatever. I'm done with them for now, so I'll leave the rabble behind and go on my merry way.

After passing the test, I left the DMV parking lot and could feel a wave of relief slide over as I drove away. First of all because I'd passed, but secondly because I had survived my first experience with the dreaded DMV. I decided to reward myself by going to a place I'd seen and read about before but never been to. In Culver City, right down the street from where I used to work at The Culver Studios, there is a restaurant called Father's Office. Father's Office prepares one of the best burgers in L.A. and pairs it with a great selection of beers. However, they're not open for lunch during the week. In that place, there is a hot dog cart across the way from them named Let's Be Frank. Let's Be Frank has been ranked as one of the best hot dogs in the city. L.A. magazine continuously mentions it as a great dog, putting it in line with other L.A. classics like Pink's. It's good praise at the least, but I had to try it to know for sure.

The cart was closing down when I got there, but the owner Sue and her employee didn't mind cooking up one more dog. This to me is the mark of great business, as I'm sure many restaurants would have told me to go elsewhere. But no, Sue has a dedication to great food, as shown by her organic approach to hot dogs. And the taste? It's wonderful. The bun is crispy from the grill, the dog has a nice snap to it and the inside is so juicy and flavorful, it makes your mouth yearn for the next bite. Some grilled onions and deli mustard made the party complete. I now know a great hot dog spot in Culver City and I will be back.

Now calmed down from the DMV escapade and happy from the dog, I drove home. Traffic took forever, but I had my temporary license in hand so it was all good. I get the real thing in two weeks and can't wait. Until tomorrow, goodbye and safe driving.

Andrew Gutin