BACK TO THE LAND OF AZ

A couple of years ago I had the misfortune, as everyone does from time to time, to pay a visit to the Department of Motor Vehicle to renew the tags on our car. Normally these days that’s something that can easily be done online but this situation was a little more complicated and required a face to face visit with the Great and Powerful Wizard who runs the land of AZ.
Within a matter of seconds I was reduced from a human to a number and had become K693 for the duration of my visit. How long was the duration you ask? I celebrated my birthday there with my new found friends. The problem there is I started this process the Monday after Thanksgiving. My birthday is in March…you do the math. By the time I made it home with the new tags on the car what little hair I had left on my head had grown considerably. The kids couldn’t decide if I looked more like Albert Einstein or Karl Marx (I opted for Groucho). The whole thing was quite traumatic to say the least.
With my recent medical and physical maladies still fresh and raw it was decided by all parties (except me) I needed to get a handicapped sticker. Since I’m no longer allowed to drive I found that a somewhat redundant and belated move. What was I supposed to do hang it on my ear or staple it to my ass? Yet I reluctantly agreed. My regular doctor, Howard, (I love this guy. Everyone should have Howard as their doctor. The guy’s just as sick and twisted as I am.) couldn’t sign the paperwork fast enough and gleefully marked a big X in the Permanent box in the choices of how long the permit should be for. A dagger that went straight through my heart, not only have I been denied the chance to beat him in basketball, but now it rules out trying to run him down in the parking lot as well.
With paper in hand I shuffle off to the car looking and feeling like a kid being sent to the Principals Office. I must go and face the Wizard…again. The DMV office is a mere two blocks away from Howard’s office so I had little or no time to come up with a perfectly ridiculous excuse that would convince my wife not to take me there. Being the evil person she is she made me go in alone while she stayed in the car hoping to start and finish War and Peace before I returned.
My trembling hand (remember the meds are still messing with me) I open the door and enter the Land of AZ. The Keno boards filled with letters and numbers were still there along with the faceless soothing voice guiding people to their ultimate demise. The people still have the same look of resignation cattle have being led to slaughter yet something was different.
Even places like the Land of AZ tweak the system now and then just to see if anyone is paying attention. They call it streamlining I call it fucking with your mind. I suspect in the long scheme of things…it’s all the same thing.
I look around to see which line I’m supposed to stand in to begin this travesty when a bright shining light from the heavens shines onto a small sign no one is standing at “Geriatrics and Droolers Start Here”. As I start towards the sign I turn and thank the security guard still turning off and putting away his flashlight. I hand the nice lady behind the counter my form and a moment later I am handed a freshly minted handicapped thingy instead of a ticket with a letter and number on it. The Great and Powerful Az has taken pity on me. I bounce out to the car to be greeted by a surprised wife who has only gotten to page ten at that point. She puts the book away and we drive off in the opposite direction of the sunset home.
I still don’t know why I had to get one of those things. My wife and daughter are the only ones who have had the opportunity to enjoy its benefits so far. From what I hear it’s been far easier to find parking while shopping these days for them but time will tell if it’s all worth going off to see the Wizard for or not.