My big plans yesterday consisted of getting the tags on my car renewed but apparently Murphy’s silly ass had different ideas and decided to fuck with me. Everything began easily enough starting off with the vehicle inspection. Fuck, that went so smooth and fast that I should’a known something was up.
After the inspection I headed out to Grandview, Mo, which is one of our fine suburbs to get the tags. I usually opt to go out there instead of downtown since the lines out there are usually either nonexistent or next to none so I never mind the long ass drive. But here’s where Murphy’s Law decided to start fuckin me in the ass without a by your leave or a reach around.
I drive clear out to the muthafucker and as I’m pulling into the parking lot I’m mentally reviewing all my paperwork. That’s when I realized that my cocksuckin insurance cards are sitting on my fuckin desk back at home. After wanging my head off the steering wheel a few times I decide to go get em.
So I turn around and drive all the way back home and grab my insurance cards and drive back to the DMV in Grandview. I walk in and there’s a fuckin line, what the fuck? So I get in line and after maybe forty minutes of having mouth-breathers breathe on me it’s my turn. As I move to the counter I see this sign that says that these muthafuckers will accept cash or check, but no plastic?
And of course all I have on me is my stupid bank card because I never carry cash so I step out of line and stomp off in search of a fuckin ATM. I find a fuckin ATM and get the stupid cash and stomp back to the line where I stand for the better part of an hour with the mouth-breathers till it’s my turn.
I step up to the counter and proudly present the DMV chick with all my papers. Vehicle inspection….check, renewal notice….check, insurance cards….check, property taxes receipt ……..property taxes receipt……no good…what…what the fuck you mean it’s no good?
I had gone online the day before and paid my property taxes and printed out the receipt which says on the top that this is your official receipt. I must’a started breathing hard or stopped blinking or something cause by now the chick was picking her words very carefully as she explained that I needed to go and have this stamped by the property tax people across the building.
Because even though I said that I paid my shit online and the receipt says that I paid my shit online, they couldn’t accept the fuckin official receipt without the fuckin official stamp. I just looked at her and grabbed my shit and went off to the other line. I got to that line and saw that it was fifteen muthafuckers deep and that’s when I said fuck it and came on home. I’m done with people’s lines and bureaucratic bullshit for today.
"and the monkey flipped the switch"