For all of you contemplating moving to another state... Just don't. Save yourself the trouble and stay where you are. Yesterday I knew I had to get Dink (my car) registered. I had been putting it off because I'm incredibly
My first sign of trouble was the line. Good heavens, it was out the door spilling into the parking lot. How could I have picked the worst day to get a license? Everyone and their small (LOUD) child in San Antonio was there. Despite the hours of waiting ahead of me (the only lines I like are the ones at Six Flags), I trudged on. After TWO hours of waiting, I finally made it to the counter.
"What are you here for?" a woman with an unruly unibrow snarled.
"Hi there! How are you? I'm here because I just moved, and I need a TX license." Smile, smile, smile. "License, Social Security, birth certificate, car registration."
(Do you really need ALL that?)
"Oh I haven't registered yet. That's next on my list though!"
She rolled her eyes. "Come back after you have."
"What are you here for?"
"Hi there! I'm here to register my car to Texas."
"I need your insurance, license, and car title."
"Oooo. I don't have the title. My dad does." I'm about to bust into tears...
"Sorry. I can't..."
"Wait, I have this bill of sale! It shows that I'm the owner." I put on my best schmoozy face.
"Okay. That will be $187." Holy balls, that's expensive.
I handed him a check, thankful at least half of this mess was over.
"Oh... sorry ma'am. We don't take temporary checks."
THE WORLD IS AGAINST ME.
"There's an ATM across the street though."
After a few minutes, I came back carrying a wad of cash. I half expected him to hand me a bag of pot for the kind of dough I just plopped on his desk. With my new (ugly) license plate, I was off to go BACK to the line of death for a new driver's license.
Two more hours of screaming babies and people cutting in line... Seriously! Just because you're fat, have a baby, or you're old doesn't mean you don't have to wait in line like the rest of us. Excuse me for not being 500 pounds with a baby on my hip (rant). ...I finally made it to the counter. This time, I had everything. An hour later, I took this horrific picture. (I was very tempted to ask for a redo.) My hair was no longer fabulous because I had been waiting for HOURS. Wahh.
Apparently I'll get my real license in a month. Until I have to keep track of this flimsy paper that won't fit in my wallet. Thanks, Texas. My journey to becoming a Texan started at 10 and ended at 530. Movers beware. It ain't no picnic.