Now I'm a Registered Masshole

I registered my car in Mass of Chewy Zits (as Dr. Moo likes to call it) and got my Mass plates, the whale ones, and got my car inspected and got one plate on. (The other has to wait till next week due to rusty screws.) Now I can zoom around and drive like a prick with abandon. Unfortunately, people will not be able to recognize my New Hampshire je ne sais quoi from viewing my automobile. They will have to get to know me first.

The DMV was both Orwellian and sci-fi. Lots and lots of people waiting in various and sundry lines, or sitting on benches, with news tickers overhead and a bizarre combo deli number and letter/number system for calling people up for service. You wait in one line to get a number, then sit with a bunch of sad looking people, young and old, some with mewling kids, some swearing openly, until your particular number/letter combo is called out by a cold computerized voice "Now serving F173 at window 9. F173 at window 9." Both the DMV ladies that waited on me were tough bitches; I could tell. I was appropriately subordinate. One woman, clearly younger than me, with painted-on white and black eyebrows told me I had shitty handwriting and called me darling.

As these DMV ladies have all the power I smiled and said thank you. I do in fact have shitty handwriting and anyway, and I wanted to get out of there alive.