DMV, MVD, OMG! Four visits to register my car in New Mexico? Seven visits by a construction supervisor to register a business truck? Three visits by a veteran to get a driver’s license? Yes. Well, that explains the proliferation of MVD Now and MVD Express offices dotting the city of Albuquerque with their LARGE red-and-yellow commercial signs proclaiming, “Why Wait?” “Skip the Trip.” “Get In. Get It Done. Get Going.” New Mexico’s MVD (Motor Vehicle Department) is California’s DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles). It was all a little confusing to this new California ex-pat at first. I had to learn the nuances. I started by stopping at an MVD Express.
Only the MVD is state operated. Any words after “MVD,” like NOW or EXPRESS, indicate a private, for-profit business that provides the same services as the MVD – for a fee. They are licensed by the state, to which they pay fees. Stop the presses! Hold on a minute! You mean the MVD gives such consumer-perceived bad service people feel compelled to go to private companies and pay higher fees (“administrative” plus MVD fees) so they can “Skip the Trip” and thumb their noses while saying, “Why Wait?” Exactly. Help me if I’m missing something here, but isn’t that a . . . conflict of interest? Giving people such bad service they go elsewhere, then licensing and collecting money from the place they go? Now that’s niche marketing. Why didn’t California think of that? And we think we’re so smart.
First, you have to find an MVD office. My State Farm insurance agent looked up the closest one for me on the internet then drew me a map. It was located on the back side of a shopping center, down an alley, with no signage at the main street. Find me if you can. Even though I arrived half an hour before opening, I was number twenty in line. Thank goodness there were people in front of me to teach me the ropes. Inside, around a corner, was a TAKE-A-CHECK machine. Overhead digital signs blinked the patron and counter numbers. A disembodied computer voice announced the next number being served. They practice triage. Everyone starts at window #1 or #2 to tell their story and be assigned to another window. “Why Wait” was beginning to make more sense. Especially when the numbers crept up into the hundreds (literally).
Chatting up others, sharing stories, helped pass the time. Last Monday was freeze-your-(fill in the blank) cold – the second day of twenty-degree temperatures and snow. The outside preopening MVD line was down to ten people. There was instant bonding. Like a tongue to a metal pole. Jokes about not giving up your spot because your feet were frozen to the ground prevailed. “Do you think they’ll open today?” No one knew. There were no clues. Well, one small, indirect clue. Someone had heard through the grapevine the MVD would open after a two-hour delay so employees could slog their way through snow, sleet and hail to get to work. No notice to the public was posted on the door. No phone number was painted on the window. There was, however, an employee email about weather delays taped inside the front door. Shuffling through my file, I found my State Farm agent’s printout. . . and, the MVD phone number. No answer. No recorded information. Just a high-pitched FAX screech after ten rings. “211. I’ll call 211,” I said to myself. They did have a recorded message: “All of our health and human service representatives are busy helping others. Please leave your name and number. Your call will be returned within 24 hours.”
I left to have breakfast. I mailed Christmas packages at the post office. I returned in time to get in line and wait for the two-hour-delayed opening. Interior lights were on. That was a good sign! I had time to listen to fellow waiters say exactly what they thought: “They don’t care about us. They’re lazy. They work for the state. They don’t have to work like us.” The New Mexico veteran told me he was asked for proof after proof of residency on each of his three visits. Finally, when asked, “How do we know you’re not a terrorist?” he stormed out, returned with his best proof, slammed down his VA card and said, “I am a veteran. Now give me my license.” They did. On his seventh visit, requirement after requirement later, the construction supervisor was asked to bring in the truck. “You mean I’m supposed to go get it from my employee using it on a job right now?” In all fairness, I am responsible for my four visits to register my car – an unpaid parking ticket and title paperwork in Ventura, CA storage. But it was the California DMV that wanted proof of New Mexico residency (at the address to which they sent the letter requesting it! Hello?) When I told that to the Window #12 lady, she laughed. I thanked her. I showed her my paper trail, registered mail receipts, and a December DMV warning of “Impending Suspension” for lack of insurance obtained in August.
Responding, rather than reacting, in the face of such bureaucracy is the challenge. Doing it lovingly – be the change you want to see in the world – is even more challenging. “You want me to cuss ‘em out?” the veteran offered me. “Nah,” I said, “I don’t think that would help. But, where’s the love? What about the Golden Rule? Would they want their mother treated this way? Their sister? Or would they want them to find a note on the door, a recorded message about the delayed opening so people don’t have to wait in the freezing cold without knowing when, or if, they will open.” I decided to talk to the manager about win-win solutions. Then I saw there was now a public notice of delayed opening on the door. And the Window #12 lady gave me a bright, shiny, new, turquoise-and-yellow New Mexico Centennial license plate for my car without making me repair the odometer first.
Blurbs from the Burque:
- New Mexico is one of the top ten most violent states in the nation, primarily due to increasing gang activity. Law enforcement personnel from California will offer assistance and training in how to deal with it.
- “Red or Green?” isn’t a question asked just at the holidays. It means do you want red or green chile sauce on your food? If you want both, you answer, “Christmas,” no matter what time of year it is!
- Employee shirts at Rudy’s BBQ and eat-in meat market read, “I didn’t claw my way to the top to eat vegetables.” Two LARGE bottles of barbeque sauce are placed on each indoor picnic table covered with a red-and-white, checkered, vinyl table cloth. One is labeled “Sissy Sause” (sic.) It’s vegan with no HFCS (high-fructose corn syrup).
