to simplify     notes from the open road

Thursday, August 27, 2015

Waiting Room

It seems that no matter one's station in life, the DMV will always be inescapably linked with the act of waiting. Nobody gets off easy.

In the old days, back when I was an apartment-dwelling cityslicker, I'd arrive early, take a number, settle into one of those hard plastic chairs, and resign myself to spending a few soul-sucking hours in purgatory. These days, as a nomad with virtual residency in South Dakota, at least the waiting room is vastly improved:

It's a cozy little spot some people like to call Wyoming, and even though it lacks the pile of three year old issues of Good Housekeeping, and Univision isn't blasting away on a cracked 15 inch TV in the corner, it's otherwise a pretty nice place to pass the time.

Having set up residency in South Dakota five years ago, it's finally time to head "home" and renew my drivers license, but with temperatures still too hot down in the Mount Rushmore State, I've opted to settle in at 8500 feet up here in southern Wyoming and wait a week or so for things to cool off.

It'll probably set a new record for DMV wait times, but at least I'm the one calling the shots. Better still, I've got the whole place to myself, Verizon was considerate enough to plop a cell tower a quarter mile from my door, and anytime the need for human contact arises, the historic town of Laramie – complete with three different microbreweries by my count – is just a short drive away.

That, gentle readers, is how you do a waiting room.