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Los Angeles Times Valley Edition | Glendale News-Press | 2004 February 7
Noah's Ark meets Siberia
BY PATRICK AZADIAN
Second of two parts
The Glendale DMV is entertaining in more ways than one. As I was scanning for available seats, I spotted two identical desks covered in leopard-print patterns in the center of the staff area. From their location, it was obvious they belonged to employees on top of the food chain. The desks were neatly festooned with statues of a variety of species in pairs: elephants, tigers, giraffes, zebras, rhinos, and leopards.
Although the decorators might have had African wildlife in mind, they were unconsciously paying tribute to Noah's Ark, which landed on Mount Ararat after the great Biblical floods (legend to most, an undisputable historical fact to Armenians). I tried to spot Noah and his wife, but they were nowhere to be seen. They might have abandoned ship for a smoke at the nearby Araratian plains. I hoped they did not pollute the environment by throwing their cigarette butts out in the virgin grasslands.
I had time to count 28 service counters. I began sending out some positive brain waves so that I would not have to walk far. An attractive lady was in charge of station 12; her fake blonde hair and high cheekbones were accompanied by a professional demeanor. As usual, I tried to guess her ethnicity. My choice was Latina.
Meanwhile, the countdown was on. G306, station 25; G307 Station 9; and G308, station 12. I had my wish. I approached "golden girl" and politely told her I was there to take care of two things. She looked at me, raised her right eyebrow and repeated: "Two tings." She sounded Russian. My ethnic radar had failed. She was old enough to have worked during the Soviet era. Great! Here I was in America thirteen years after the collapse of the USSR, and faced the possibility of dealing with an ex-Soviet bureaucrat.
In an effort to break the ice, I gave her a half-baked smile and told her about my cunning scheme of arriving late to expedite my tasks. She was not amused! Her eyebrow went up even higher; she proceeded to examine my documents.
I let my imagination wander to a very far and cold land, as it often does during times of crisis. For a minute, I felt like a dissident accused of fighting the advances of Bolshevik Russia in the Caucasus. There, I stood in front of my accuser: "Mrs. Comrade." This is exactly how it would have been, if I were on trial for conspiring against the "dictatorship of the proletariat." Was I going to be exiled to somewhere even colder and more brutal than the Armenian highlands, a place where I would have to peel Ukrainian potatoes for the Red Army all day? Vladivostok? Murmansk? Yakutsk...
As the white walls of the DMV were beginning to resemble the Siberian wasteland, I heard "Mrs. Comrade" slam my documents on the nippy counter and direct a query at me (in Armenian!): "Ooreesh?" (What else?) She was not only finished with processing my citation (I still had to pay), but was also smiling at me. I was not headed to the gulag after all! So much for ethnic profiling.
(A disturbing thought: If I could not identify an Armenian in a city where one out of at least every three is a co-ethnic, what chance would an airport security guy from Alabama have in deciphering Yemenites from Israelis, South Koreans from the North, the Oklahoma McVeigh's from the Glaswegians, Sicilians from Iranians, and the Lebanese from les Parisiens. But let's say he did; he still would have the most critical task of picking out the tourist from the "not-so-tourist.").
Back to the real world. I returned the smile to Mrs. Comrade, and bashfully informed her of having to also renew my driver's license. She asked: "Will that be it?"
I gave her my word and continued with a newfound confidence: "I helped a stranger fill out an application today, and it would be nice if you helped me."
Her exact response was, "I am sure she was pretty and also gave you her phone number." She had no faith in altruism.
I let out a deep sigh and replied, "I wish she was a girl and somewhat attractive."
This, I should not have said.
I was getting ready to take the written exam when I heard Mrs. Comrade say: "Patrick this is Nadia; Nadia this is Patrick." Yes, I was being set up in the middle of DMV. I played dumb and delivered a cordial greeting; I had left my smooth-talkin' hat back at home. I received a mischievous grin and a message: "You wished for it!"
Now, this is what I call a full-service institution. I challenge any other city's DMV to provide its citizenry a voyage through the African wildlife, an intimate meeting with all the original species on Noah's Ark, a chance encounter with Noah and wife, a visit to the set of Dr. Zhivago, and an opportunity to meet the girl of your dreams. Glendale is a swell town.
Copyright 2004 Glendale News Press
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