 |
Los Angeles Times Valley Edition | Glendale News-Press | 2004 January 24
No shortage of entertainmnet at the DMV
BY PATRICK AZADIAN
First of two parts
If you are short on cash and looking for some inexpensive entertainment, the Department of Motor Vehicles on Glenoaks is the place to be. The unintended fun factor could be a blessing, as there is always a long line to accomplish the most menial of tasks.
For once, I decided to beat bureaucrats at their own game. I devised a scheme where I would arrive at the DMV a few minutes before closing on a Friday. I anticipated that at least once a week, at this hour, bureaucrats and the public all share a common goal -- to take care of business swiftly and go home.
True to form, I arrived without an appointment. I was in for a good shock. There were at least a couple of hundred people ahead of me. Could it be that we all shared the same modus operandi? As I approached the information desk, a stunning female caught my eye. She had dark, straight, long hair, a pale face, deep blue eyes, well attended eyebrows (certainly not the work of local madams), and was dressed effortlessly in a stylish ensemble of jeans, boots and a colorful top. She was fiercely engaged
with a paperback. Her European aura was contrasted with a Near-Eastern bracelet full of turquoise stones; they are supposed to protect the owner from evil eyes.
"Could be Armenian," I thought. My ethnic radar had been switched on. I tried not to stare too intensely. I was neither in the mood for rejection on that particular day nor interested in being struck down by a lightening if someone above determined my eyes were evil. The fact that she was surrounded by the United Nations made matters even more difficult; my odds were not so good in striking
up a conversation. As it later turned out, I was not going to have much time for her.
Everyone before me had a number. They were serving the lower 100s. The sign at the information desk read: "Start Here." And underneath, it said "Service Languages: 'Espanyol,' 'Hayeren' (Armenian), some Asian characters (probably Korean), and 'Tagalog.'"
No English?
As I approached the Latino attendant
(my ethnic radar was still buzzing), I was tempted to practice my primitive Spanish. I looked at him meekly and began: "Quiero... hmmm... pagar mi boleto... uhhhh..." OK, that was enough! I decided to postpone practicing Spanish to my next trip to Miami, or just watch soccer matches on Telemundo from the comfort of my own bedroom. I continued in English.
I gave him the paperwork and hoped everything could be taken care of right there and then. I was only there to pay a citation and pick up some new license plates. He quickly informed me of my status: "You are number G308." There were two other sets of numbers, starting with I's and B's. And they were also in the
lower hundreds. It did not look too good.
As I was digesting the meaning of "G308," a middle-aged man with a wide, graying mustache on a chiseled face approached me. I immediately noticed his eclectic choice of clothes: Nordstrom Rack-style Bermuda shorts, black semi-see-through dress socks protected from the tiled floor with a pair of ultra-large Otafuku-brand
Japanese rubber sandals. Without an introduction, he directed an inquiry at me: "Hay ek?" (Are you Armenian?)
I knew something was up. I had a dilemma. If I told him the truth, it was possible he would ask me for a favor, and I just could not say no based on my family motto: "Never deny your identity." Of course, I was forgetting
that such idealism has gotten us into some hot water throughout history. I had no choice; I said "Ayo" (Yes).
Once my first answer was affirmative, he must have known the answer to his next question would also be a positive one. He followed up, "Dzerkee heradzayn oonek?" (Do you have a cell phone?) Here we go, I'd been had!
He wanted to call his "keree" (uncle) to get his own home address for an application. After making a half-hearted attempt in convincing him to use the public phone, we dialed five different numbers on my cell to reach "keree." I was finally handed back my own phone to write down the address we so desperately craved.
My new buddy had a strategy; he did not ask for everything all at once, in an effort not to overwhelm me. Once we had the address, he asked me to fill out his application. As I had a lot of time on my hands, I obliged. He thanked me: "Ashkharhee chaap shnohakalootune" (Thank you, as much as the universe!). "Vocheench." (It was nothing, "de nada").
Not too bad. In thirty minutes, I had already passed the information checkpoint, been associated with a number, identified an intellectual beauty protected by turquoise jewelry, put my Spanish into exhaustive use, and performed a decent amount of community service.
I was thankful to the DMV for providing me with the opportunity
to combine my interests in business, romance, culture and social work all under one roof.
Copyright 2004 Glendale News Press
|
