This happened a few weeks ago, and I’ve been reliving it in my head ever since. It was one of those days where you just want to get your errands done and go home, but then life decides to throw a curveball directly at your face, and the curveball is wearing a really bad blonde bob.
I was at the local DMV, which is, let’s be honest, nobody’s favorite place to be. I had to renew my driver’s license, and because I’d let it lapse just a little too long, I had to go through the full song and dance of retaking my photo and waiting in line for what felt like an eternity. To pass the time, I had my noise-canceling headphones on, deeply engrossed in the latest episode of “My Favorite Murder.” Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark were dissecting a particularly grisly 19th-century case, and frankly, it was a welcome distraction from the fluorescent lights and the general hum of public misery. I was actually pretty chill, just enjoying the morbid details and doing my best to ignore the increasingly loud sighs from the person behind me.
The DMV was pretty busy, as always. The waiting area was packed, and the lines for each window seemed to stretch on forever. I’d been there for about an hour already, slowly inching my way towards Window 3, where a very patient-looking woman was helping people with their renewals. Everything was moving at a snail’s pace, but it was moving. That’s when she arrived. Let’s call her EM, for Entitled Mom, though I never saw a kid with her. She stomped in like she owned the place, a whirlwind of bad energy and what looked like a half-empty latte cup. She had that specific haircut, you know the one, and a permanent scowl etched onto her face. She immediately scanned the room, her eyes narrowed, as if she was personally offended by the existence of other people in a public building.
EM didn’t even bother to take a number. She just strode directly to the front of the longest line – which happened to be mine, of course – and tried to cut in. The woman she tried to cut in front of, a sweet elderly lady, politely informed her that she needed to take a number like everyone else. EM scoffed, rolling her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “I don’t have time for this,” she declared, loud enough for half the waiting room to hear. “I have important things to do. I just need to ask a quick question.” The elderly lady, bless her heart, just shook her head and turned away, clearly not wanting a confrontation. EM then tried to push past her, almost knocking her off balance. That’s when I, OP, decided to speak up. I took off my headphones, pausing my true-crime podcast, and gave her my best “are you serious?” look.
“Excuse me,” I said, trying to keep my voice level, “she just told you, you need a number. We’ve all been waiting here for a long time.” EM spun around, her eyes blazing. “Who do you think you are?” she spat, practically jabbing a finger in my direction. “I’m not talking to you. This doesn’t concern you.” I shrugged. “It concerns all of us who are waiting patiently. You can’t just cut the line.” She let out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t ‘cut the line.’ I have an urgent matter that needs immediate attention. Unlike you people, I actually have a job and responsibilities.” Oh, the classic. I just stared at her, not even bothering to respond. The person at Window 3, the patient woman named Brenda, by the looks of her name tag, looked up, a weary expression on her face. “Ma’am, do you have a number?” she asked, her voice calm but firm.
EM ignored Brenda and continued her tirade, now directed at me. “You probably don’t even have a job, sitting around listening to your little murder stories all day,” she sneered, apparently having seen my podcast choice on my phone. Wow, she was observant. “I need to speak to a manager. This entire system is inefficient, and this person,” she gestured wildly at me, “is harassing me.” Now, that was a straight-up lie. I hadn’t even raised my voice. Brenda sighed, clearly used to this. “Ma’am, I am the supervisor on duty. If you need assistance, you must take a number and wait your turn like everyone else.” EM’s face turned a shade of puce. “This is ridiculous! I just need to get my son’s permit processed! He has soccer practice in an hour, and we’ll miss it if you don’t help me right now!” She was practically yelling now, drawing everyone’s attention. A few people were starting to pull out their phones, probably to record. EM then slammed her latte cup down on the counter, making a loud thud, and some of the liquid splattered onto the paperwork of the person Brenda was currently helping. Brenda’s eyes widened in alarm.
That was the tipping point. The poor woman whose paperwork was now slightly coffee-stained looked furious. Brenda, surprisingly, remained calm. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave if you continue to be disruptive and disrespectful to other patrons and staff.” EM’s jaw dropped. “You can’t do that! I’m a tax-paying citizen! I demand to speak to someone who actually knows how to do their job!” Her voice was now a full-blown shriek. She picked up the latte cup again and made a motion like she was going to throw it, but then, wisely, just slammed it down again, this time harder. The sound echoed through the silent DMV. Two security guards, who had clearly been alerted by the commotion, began to make their way over. EM saw them and her eyes darted around, looking for an escape. “This is an outrage!” she yelled, but her voice held a new note of panic. “I’m going to report all of you!”
As the security guards approached, EM suddenly grabbed her purse, which she’d thrown onto an empty chair, and made a dash for the exit. She literally ran, practically tripping over her own feet, and burst out of the double doors. The guards just watched her go, shaking their heads. They knew the type. Brenda just looked exhausted, running a hand through her hair. The whole waiting room was buzzing with chatter. Everyone was exchanging knowing glances and quiet murmurs of “can you believe that?” and “some people.” I put my headphones back on, though I didn’t restart my podcast. I just needed the quiet. I felt a mix of relief that she was gone and annoyance that my peaceful (morbid) listening had been interrupted. I mean, seriously, who acts like that? It was infuriating to witness such blatant entitlement and outright rudeness. I finally got to the front of the line about twenty minutes later, and Brenda apologized to me for the delay, even though it wasn’t her fault at all. I told her not to worry about it, and she just gave me a tired smile. I got my new license, snapped a pretty decent photo actually, and got out of there as fast as I could. The whole ordeal left a sour taste in my mouth, making me wonder how many times people like EM get away with their behavior because others are too polite or too afraid to speak up. It was a stark reminder that some people truly believe the rules don’t apply to them.
TL;DR: OP at DMV, listening to true crime. EM tried to cut line, lied, and threw a tantrum, then ran away from security guards.
