Hoosier, Officially

Well, it took me almost 6 months but I finally can say I'm a Hoosier.  I'm not certain that is something to be proud of, especially as I watched them cut up my one good drivers license photo on my Utah license.  But, at least now I'm legal.

It took me 6 separate trips to this stupid place and multiple website visits just to get this feat accomplished.  My first trip was on a Monday while we were still engaged and I was trying to pick up a handbook so I could study.  Closed.  Closed?  On a Monday?  Yup.  Trip two was to finally get the handbook. 

Trip three was to get the actual license.  They checked me in nicely, looked over all of my identification and sat me down to take the test.  It still baffles me as to why its important to know you cannot park within X amount of feet of a fire hydrant.  I get it as to why but I have yet to see even the most OCD person get out of their car with a measuring tape to double check the specific amount of feet.  I passed the test and thought I was in like Flynn.  Nope.  Didn't have my birth certificate or passport.  Of course those were back in the safe deposit box in Utah so I had to delay things until my trip home at Christmas. 
Safe deposit boxes usually contain things that you do not want to send in the mail or you could have just any random person go get.  Nope, it had to be me.  Why I didn't think of this before I moved is beyond me.  They were quite nice about denying me a license at that point in time.  I would imagine it would be an awful job to work at the DMV with everyone screaming at you.  I was internally rageful, but held it in as I knew it was not that specific person sitting in front of me's fault for the stupid confusing website instructions.

Trip four was back again on a Monday.  I blame me for forgetting this part.  By now I'm getting smart and actually decided to transfer my title at the same time.  That took some coordination, but I got a letter from the bureau stating that they got it from my lienholder.  Trip five was Tuesday morning.  I got in line and realized that I forgot my social security card.  Back home.  Trip six was 20 minutes later with me bringing in everything but the kitchen sink and boy I am glad.

"Sales tax?  I don't see when you purchased the car.  Do you have a statement of salestax?"  The tightly blond bad permed 20 year old with Wet N' Wild pink lip gloss smacked her gum at me.  I wickedly pulled out last years statement from my folder o' tricks.  Yup, they never put this on the website, but I was prepared.

"Huh.  Ok, what about proof of insurance?"  This was an easy one.  The dual was on.

"And I'll need proof of your residence here through the mail."  I handed her a phone bill. 

"This won't count.  Its not from a government agency."  She smiled.  Not to be defeated, I produced the letter from that DMV branch stating that my title was in. 

"Will this do?"  I sweetly asked knowing that I had just claimed my victory.  She slowly, at a snails pace, hand pecked my information into the keyboard.  Hey, if she sped it up it just meant she had another angry customer to serve. 

As my reward, I got to go stand over by the blue backdrop and wait for them to say, "One, two" Click/flash "three."  I think they teach them how to do this just to get the hideous photos.

I walked out of there with a new license and license plate in hand.  My theory was that it was the State's advantage to keep as much confusion up around the process so they could screen potential residents for their persistence, problem solving, and gusto.   But then I went to Wendy's for lunch.

Wouldn't you know the only white person there was the manager, which is a sad statement of our country, but that is only an observation.  This woman flew about in a mad frenzied rage appearing very busy doing menial tasks.  It was very important that the trays were all stacked up by the garbage.  Then she would fly back through the kitchen screaming, "coming through!"  Somehow she then remembered she forgot step two in bringing the trays back to where the food was, so she flew back to get them.  The employees are watching her mumbling under their breath as they go about their tasks.  She then informed everyone she would be taking orders. 

Now I've seen this process go very smoothly at other Wendy's.  An employee will come out with a carbon pad, take your order, and then either hand them to the line cooks or call them in on their headset.  Seems this woman couldn't quite get the concept.  She was taking our orders down on a regular pad of paper, tearing off thepaper and handing it to the customer.  There was no communication with the line cooks or calling it in, eventhough her headset was hanging around her neck.  She took her job very seriously, but unfortunately her customers and employees did not.  The snickering continued.  I began to wonder if this person passed the DMV test.  At that time, one of my fellow Wendy's patrons turned to me and said, "This is prime example of why we do not work in fast food."

That afternoon I took my car in.  I asked for them to do a quick check on a couple of things but to also put my new plate on my car.  As I drove out I noticed I only had one of my old Utah plates on my passenger seat.  Where was the other one?  Still on my car.  On the front I'm a Utah girl and the back I'm Indiana.  Again, did these people pass the DMV test?