DMV, page 2
“Did I pass?” Todd asked.
Cliff turned toward him and smiled. He saw his own nervous reflection in the man’s mirrored shades. The smile grew broader. “You failed.”
Todd thought about that now as he looked through the glass and watched the man with the clipboard get into the passenger seat of the black Nissan and direct the driver to pull out. The Sentra was replaced by a red Jeep, and another DMV employee, this one a middle-aged woman, walked up to the Jeep and introduced herself to the driver.
His line moved forward, and Todd progressed past the doorway. He was standing once again next to a blank white wall, but looking ahead he could see that they were not far from the end of the queue. Ten minutes later, he was standing on a yellow circle affixed to the floor, in the middle of which was printed a large number 5, waiting for the teenage girl and her creepy dad to finish their transaction at window five. Whatever their business, it obviously concluded to the duo’s satisfaction since the man gave a hard celebratory pat to his daughter’s butt, and the two of them walked off.
“Window number five!” a woman’s voice called out. “Next!”
Todd stepped forward. A bored-looking older lady stared flatly out at him from behind the counter. Hanging from a bar in the ceiling behind her was an eye chart, a setup duplicated for windows four and six to either side of him. Todd pushed his printout toward the clerk. “I’m here to take the driver’s test. The written test.”
The woman did not bother to respond but took the printout, scanned the barcode at the bottom, and typed something into her computer.
“I have an appointment for ten o’clock.” He emphasized the time since it was now well past that.
The woman pushed back his paper. “I’m sorry,” she said, although her tone of voice made it clear that she was not sorry at all. “Apparently, you made an appointment to take the vision test and get your photo taken for a license renewal, not an appointment for the driver’s test.”
“No,” he said calmly, turning around his printed confirmation so that it faced her direction. He pointed to the words “written test.” “As you can see right here, I made an appointment to take the written test. I made that appointment over a month ago. It was for ten o’clock this morning.” He pointed to the clock on the wall. “It is now eleven-fifteen. I got in line at nine-thirty and have been waiting in line for an hour and forty-five minutes.” He spoke to her as though she were a small child or a slow adult, and he was gratified to see that his tone grated on her.
“My computer,” she said, speaking in exactly the same tone and swiveling her screen in his direction so that he could see, “shows that you made an appointment for a vision test and license photo.”
“Well, as my printout shows, your computer is incorrect.”
She fixed him with a level stare. “My computer is not incorrect. Your piece of paper is incorrect. For all I know, you typed that up yourself and printed it out to make it look like you had a test appointment.”
“And yet, somehow, I’m still listed on your screen, and this barcode you scanned brought up my name. How do you suppose that happened?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. What I do know is that this window is not where you take the written driver’s test. So you have two options. You can either go outside and wait in line along with those who have no appointments, or you can reschedule.”
He picked up his printout, folded it and put it in his shirt pocket, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then reschedule my appointment,” he said.
“I can’t do that. You’ll have to go to our website or wait in that line over there. Window number twelve.” She pointed down the counter to the right.
“No,” he said. “This is your screwup, so you’re going to fix it.”
“I am not.”
Frustrated, Todd took a deep breath. Confrontation clearly wasn’t working, so he decided to try a different tack. “Look,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed out from having to wait in line all morning and then finding out that I have to come back and do it all over again some other day. Could you please help me make another appointment?”
The woman stared at him unresponsively.
“Come on,” he said, giving her his most ingratiating smile. “Just this once? It’ll be your good deed for the day. And I’ll be sure to mention how helpful you were—” He looked at her nametag. “—Doris, when I fill out my customer satisfaction survey. What do you say?”
She motioned him closer, and he leaned over the edge of the counter.
Okay, just this once, he expected her to say, but instead, she whispered, “If you ever ask me to perform a duty that is outside of my job description again, I will ream your ass with a four-slice toaster.” Her mouth smiled, though her eyes remained hard.
Todd pulled back, shocked.
“Next!” Doris called to the person in line behind him.
Bitch, he thought, but said nothing, refusing to sink to her level.
He turned away, resigning himself to making a new appointment through the website, since there was no way in hell that he was going to wait in another line today.
Looking toward the front of the building, Todd saw that the DMV seemed to have gotten even more crowded, if possible. He heard coughing and sneezing coming from the closely packed throng, saw a dirty man wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve, and determined that he’d rather not squeeze his way between the lines of people in order to go out the same way he’d come in. He decided instead to exit through the driver’s test door he had passed earlier, and then walk around the building to the parking lot.
“Excuse me,” he said, cutting between two people and opening the door to the outside.
The fresh air and open space felt good after the claustrophobic closeness within, and Todd passed between a red Hyundai and a white Bronco until he reached a narrow sidewalk on the opposite side of the testing lane. Looking left, then right, trying to determine the fastest route to the parking lot, he saw a man with a clipboard walking around the car at the head of the line.
A beefy man wearing mirrored shades and a red baseball cap.
Cliff?
It couldn’t be.
But a chill passed through him as he saw the man jerk a thumb over his shoulder, and then remain in place as a mom emerged from the passenger side of the car and walked sheepishly back to the building, entering through the door Todd had just exited. The man—
Cliff
—looked in his direction, and Todd turned quickly away. There was no way this could be the same person. And even if it was, the man could not possibly recognize him.
But the similarity was unnerving, and Todd turned to walk in the other direction, unable to relax until he was in the parking lot on the opposite side of the building and getting into his car.
TWO
“We landed the DMV!”
A cheer went up at Murdoch’s announcement, and in every cubicle coders and programmers stood, clapping.
Zal Tombasian looked over the divider at his friend Bernard, who was grinning hugely. “Job security!” he boomed.
Zal knew exactly how the other programmer felt. Along with half of the department, he had been surreptitiously sending out resumes as the county payroll project neared its end. Management had been trying hard to assure them that there would be no layoffs, but that was the same line they’d given out after the Familyland gig had been completed, just before sixteen programmers were shown the door.
Getting the Department of Motor Vehicles account, though, was massive. Not only would there be no layoffs, but the company would probably have to hire new workers to ensure that deadlines were met. Any new statewide system would also require continued support, so there’d be assured employment for those tasked with writing and installing updates. The project was a godsend for Data Initiatives, and while Zal knew nothing of the specifics yet, their shared areas of expertise and experience, pretty much guaranteed he and Bernard permanent assignments.
Bernard made an exaggerated display of wiping sweat off his forehead. “Whew!” he said. “That was a close one.”
Murdoch stood outside his office, holding up his hands for silence. “I’ll be meeting with Management this afternoon and come back with more details, but as I understand it, they’re looking to revamp not only their online scheduling system but their dedicated programs for transitioning learner’s permits into driver’s licenses. We’re in it for the long haul, children, and I have to say that they couldn’t have picked a better or more dedicated group to work with.”
Another cheer went up, and Murdoch gestured for everyone to get back to work before retreating into his office.
“So what do you think the time frame’s going to be on this?” Zal asked Bernard.
“Soon, I hope. There’s only so much longer I can stretch out these compiles before it becomes obvious that I’m stalling.”
“You’re stalling? I haven’t even finished.”
Bernard grinned. “I pity you poor mortals. We masters of the computing arts have trials and tribulations you cannot hope to understand.”
Zal waved him off. “I’m going back to work.”
After lunch, Murdoch called them all into the conference room for an update. Zal and Bernard sat next to Judi, along the wall next to the door, so they could effect an early and easy exit.
The project manager began by citing the stats, and the scope of what they were being hired to do became immediately apparent. The number of terminals that would need to simultaneously log on to their programs was overwhelming, covering as it did every DMV office in the entire state. Fortunately, the amount of processing power they’d have at their disposal was tremendous, far beyond what any of them had had access to before.
Murdoch went on to explain how different divisions of Data Initiatives would be working on separate aspects of the DMV computer systems. Their department, along with two others, would be focused on permitting. “You’ll be interfacing not only with users and managers at the DMV, but coordinating with the freelance programmers they hired to patch the various systems while they waited for financing to be approved for a comprehensive restructuring.” He smiled sympathetically. “I know many of you have been worried about your futures and have been furiously rewriting resumes, but let me assure you, everyone here is safe. And safe for as far as we can forsee. The pre-planning alone should take us well into next year.”
“There’s no deadline on this?” Austin asked.
“Oh, there is,” Murdoch assured them. “Or, rather, there are a series of benchmarks and milestones, but this is a complete overhaul, so it’s projected to be a years-long effort.”
Zal was not the only one with a smile on his face. Nearly all of the programmers in the conference room were grinning, and more than a few faces were filled with expressions of gratitude and relief. They returned to their desks and cubicles a half-hour later, feeling reassured and optimistic, after Murdoch had finished explaining all he knew and answering what questions he could.
The rest of the afternoon sped by.
Daylight Savings Time had ended only the week before, and it was dark by the time Zal arrived home. Not only that, but someone had taken the parking space in front of his house. Though he could see no evidence of road construction, the space in front of the house next door was blocked off by two orange traffic cones, which meant that he was forced to find a spot even further up the street. He was annoyed, but he couldn’t really complain. Practically everyone else he knew lived in an apartment. He was lucky enough to be able to own his own home. Of course, with housing costs so high, the only reason he could afford this place, in this neighborhood, was because it had been his parents’ house, and when they’d died, it had become his. Unfortunately, it still looked like his parents’ house. He’d fully intended to redecorate and make it his own, but his mom’s corny knicknacks remained on shelves and in cabinets throughout the house, and the framed reproduction of a naval battle between two tall ships that his dad had liked continued to dominate the living room.
Hell, he still slept in his childhood bedroom.
Which might explain why most of his first dates were only dates.
One of these days, though, he was going to get around to clearing things out, selling things off and putting his own stamp on the residence.
One of these days.
Tonight, though, he popped a frozen macaroni and cheese pie in the oven, got a beer out of the fridge and went online to see what his friends were up to. There was no sign of Kevin, but, as expected, both Yung and Javier were playing Altair Assault. Yung had been granted access to a beta test version of the game, and the four of them had been tearing through it for the past several days. Zal signed in, put on his headphones, joined the team mid-mission, and after a quick greeting, started shooting monsters. Kevin appeared shortly after Zal paused to get his dinner out of the oven, and they all continued playing until they were too tired to continue.
He went to bed sometime after midnight, falling asleep staring at the Pearl Jam poster tacked to the wall by the side of his bed and thinking that it really was time for him to redecorate.
****
In the morning, Zal scrolled through his news feed as he ate a bowl of Raisin Bran. Getting up to pour himself some orange juice, he noticed that the refrigerator in the kitchen was green. Well, he’d known the refrigerator was green, of course. He used it every day. But for the first time, he saw how old-fashioned it looked. He wasn’t sure when his parents had bought it, but it definitely had a 1970s vibe, and while it couldn’t be that old—refrigerators didn’t last that long, did they?—he was pretty sure it had been in the house at least since his high school days.
He looked around. The entire kitchen seemed oddly out of date. It felt homey, at least to him, but the clunky gas stove and oven, the oversized microwave, the yellow-tiled countertops, the formica floor, everything contributed to an air of antiquated inattention. He remembered his mom cooking in here, especially when he was little. He would sit at the breakfast table, reading or coloring, while she made pies, cobbler or some other type of dessert, the entire kitchen smelling of sweet delicious goodness.
It was strange, Zal considered, how infrequently he thought about his parents. Much of it no doubt was due to the fact that he wasn’t religious. His mother and father were dead and gone, and that was it. But, still, it would be natural for him to spare them a thought and recall old times more often than he did, particularly since he was still living in their house. Most likely, he avoided thinking about them to keep from being overwhelmed by the emotions such reflection would undoubtedly dredge up. It was much easier to skate along on a superficial plane than dive deep into those waters.
He didn’t even want to think about why he didn’t think about his parents.
Pushing the thought away, he turned his attention back to breakfast and scanned through his news feed until he found the movie reviews.
After eating, he took a quick shower, got dressed, gathered his gear and headed out the door. Whoever had parked in front of his house was gone, and sometime in the night the traffic cones had been removed from the space in front of his next door neighbor’s house. A pickup truck decked out in extra chrome was parked there now.
Zal hiked up the sidewalk past three more houses before reaching his car. He knew most of his neighbors on the street—many of them had lived there since he was a child—yet he had no idea who lived next door. When he was little, Old Man McDonnell had owned the place, but after his death, when Zal was in his early teens, it had become a rental, and since then no one had remained in the house more than a couple of years. His parents, always far more social than he was, had kept up with the turnover, but since their deaths, at least one family and two subsequent couples had lived there, and Zal had absolutely no clue who was renting the place now.
He’d parked his car in front of the Garcias’ house, and Mr. Garcia walked out to the sidewalk in his bathrobe to pick up his newspaper just as Zal reached the vehicle. They both nodded a somewhat embarrassed good morning to each other before Zal opened the driver’s door and got into his car.
He was halfway to work, parked at a stoplight in front of an overcrowded Costco parking lot, when he noticed a police car directly behind him. The light changed from red to green, and he accelerated slowly, keeping an eye on the speedometer to make sure he stayed a safe five miles under the speed limit. Glancing in the rearview mirror, Zal hoped to find that the cop had turned at the intersection, but the police car was still right behind him.
And its blue and red lights suddenly started flashing, accompanied by a short whoop! whoop! sound.
Zal began moving to the right, but signs on the street all said No Stopping Any Time, so he pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall. Lights still flashing, the police car halted directly behind him, blocking the way should he attempt to back up and escape.
He rolled down his window but remained in the car while the cop walked up, and when the patrolman asked, Zal found and handed over his license and registration. The man looked in at him. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
Zal shook his head.
“I was driving behind you, and I noticed that your tags had expired.”
“Okay, this is ironic,” Zal said. “I actually sent in my renewal form two months ago. I did it early. But I still haven’t gotten anything back. The ironic part is that I work for Data Initiatives, and we’ve just been hired to overhaul the DMV system to make it more efficient so things like this don’t happen and everyone gets their stickers on time.”
“I wasn’t asking you for an excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse. I was just trying to explain.”
“There is nothing to explain. Your tags are expired.”
