When asked how my experiences in Minnesota compare to my life back in Ohio, I usually describe the Twin Cities as a parallel universe... where everything is a little bit better. For instance, drivers stop at crosswalks for pedestrians and cyclists (compared to NWOH where you get yelled at or run down), there's any number of stores and restaurants to choose from in short distance (compared to a drive to Detroit for Ikea or Whole Foods), and while the weather is hot it's not as humid as the Black Swamp region. Yup, so far everything's been great...
For the uninitiated Vogons are the fictional slug-like race steeped in bureaucracy from Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a bizarre sci-fi people who prefer killing with paperwork and poetry instead of phasers and lightsabers.
Eager to become Minnesota citizens, we set out to change our Driver’s Licenses and pick up some Minnesota plates for the Jeep in one fell swoop. We arrived at the county DMV, inside a huge building that hosted a well stocked public library, cafe, and several courts. A sort of all-in-one public service building, which I found incredibly efficient - except for the fact that it was run by Vogons.
At one point I thought we had actually crossed over from reality to a Judd Apatow film as we were greeted by a Jonah Hill look-alike who asked us why we were there.
We responded with cheerfulness, unaware of the events to come. Cyrus handed us a pair of forms to fill out and a ticket reading C253, then directed us to a waiting area that was reminiscent of a scene from BeetleJuice.
We sat, filling out our forms, while, scenes from old movies played on television monitors around us. I was trying to discern if there was any significance to the slice of Casablanca showing, as compared to the clip Breakfast at Tiffany’s, when a robotic voice announced “A521, please report to counter 18, A521 please report to counter 18...”
For the next hour we sat next to G608, a Somali man with a nice smile and a strong sense of humor at the situation, trying to figure out a method to the madness. There were over 20 counters to report to, though only 4 or 5 were operating at one time. Furthermore, one employee would occasionally desert his post for another counter.
Numbers kept rolling out from the squawk box - and I caught a glimmer of hope as C248 was called, followed shortly by C249. Then B207. Then F119. C250 failed to show up, lost their spot in cue, and we rejoiced hoping others had bailed out or died from starvation.
The Somali confided that he had gotten there a full hour before us, and had planned on leaving soon if his number wasn’t called. Within 5 minutes of his ultimatum, G608 was called up, and we said good bye and good luck to our temporary friend. Then C53 was called, and I wanted to shout BINGO! at the top of my lungs.
We practically ran to the counter to turn in our forms to... Jonah Hill!
Apparently Cyrus had moved from information to an active station. He asked us what we were there for, and we told him again, showing him the forms he had given us.
“Oh, you have the wrong forms. You can’t even get ID’s at this office,”
he said tearing them up and explaining that we needed to take a written test at another office across town to get a license to drive.
Grrrrrrrrr. Vogons.
We eventually filled out all the necessary forms in triplicate, took the tests, paid the fees, and are now waiting the 5 to 6 weeks we were told it would take them to mail us our state IDs. It's a far cry from the Ohio DMV, where they print an ID on the spot, and even give you a preview of your picture, offering to retake it if it's horrible.
One thing we were allowed to do in MN that isn't allowed in OH? Smile at the camera. Somehow though, after everything I'd been through, I couldn't grin when the Vogon photographer said "Cheese."
Except for the Vogons.
For the uninitiated Vogons are the fictional slug-like race steeped in bureaucracy from Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a bizarre sci-fi people who prefer killing with paperwork and poetry instead of phasers and lightsabers.
Eager to become Minnesota citizens, we set out to change our Driver’s Licenses and pick up some Minnesota plates for the Jeep in one fell swoop. We arrived at the county DMV, inside a huge building that hosted a well stocked public library, cafe, and several courts. A sort of all-in-one public service building, which I found incredibly efficient - except for the fact that it was run by Vogons.
At one point I thought we had actually crossed over from reality to a Judd Apatow film as we were greeted by a Jonah Hill look-alike who asked us why we were there.
“We just moved into the state and need to get new ID’s”
We responded with cheerfulness, unaware of the events to come. Cyrus handed us a pair of forms to fill out and a ticket reading C253, then directed us to a waiting area that was reminiscent of a scene from BeetleJuice.
We sat, filling out our forms, while, scenes from old movies played on television monitors around us. I was trying to discern if there was any significance to the slice of Casablanca showing, as compared to the clip Breakfast at Tiffany’s, when a robotic voice announced “A521, please report to counter 18, A521 please report to counter 18...”
A521? A521! I looked at my ticket again. C253...
For the next hour we sat next to G608, a Somali man with a nice smile and a strong sense of humor at the situation, trying to figure out a method to the madness. There were over 20 counters to report to, though only 4 or 5 were operating at one time. Furthermore, one employee would occasionally desert his post for another counter.
Numbers kept rolling out from the squawk box - and I caught a glimmer of hope as C248 was called, followed shortly by C249. Then B207. Then F119. C250 failed to show up, lost their spot in cue, and we rejoiced hoping others had bailed out or died from starvation.
The Somali confided that he had gotten there a full hour before us, and had planned on leaving soon if his number wasn’t called. Within 5 minutes of his ultimatum, G608 was called up, and we said good bye and good luck to our temporary friend. Then C53 was called, and I wanted to shout BINGO! at the top of my lungs.
We practically ran to the counter to turn in our forms to... Jonah Hill!
Apparently Cyrus had moved from information to an active station. He asked us what we were there for, and we told him again, showing him the forms he had given us.“Oh, you have the wrong forms. You can’t even get ID’s at this office,”
he said tearing them up and explaining that we needed to take a written test at another office across town to get a license to drive.
Grrrrrrrrr. Vogons.
We eventually filled out all the necessary forms in triplicate, took the tests, paid the fees, and are now waiting the 5 to 6 weeks we were told it would take them to mail us our state IDs. It's a far cry from the Ohio DMV, where they print an ID on the spot, and even give you a preview of your picture, offering to retake it if it's horrible.
One thing we were allowed to do in MN that isn't allowed in OH? Smile at the camera. Somehow though, after everything I'd been through, I couldn't grin when the Vogon photographer said "Cheese."
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