DMV, page 4
“And I’m Mr. Black.”
They both chuckled, as though this was part of an oft-performed routine. “Ironic,” Mr. White said. “We get it.”
“The only thing you need to ‘get,’” Jorge said, “is out of my house. I told you I wasn’t interested. Now you’re harassing my wife? Get the hell out of here.”
Beverly looked at him with a frightened expression.
What had they been saying to her?
Neither of the men made any effort to leave.
“Are you deaf or just dumb? Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
As before, they moved to either side of him.
“We can walk you through the initial test and application process,” Mr. Black said. “Where’s your computer?”
“In the den,” Beverly answered, her voice small.
“Let’s go, then.”
“You can go,” Jorge told them. “I want you out of my house.”
“You don’t want the fifty thousand a year starting salary?” Mr. White.
“Or the benefits?” The way Mr. Black said the word “benefits” made Jorge think of far more than healthcare.
“I don’t know why you’re being so hostile,” Beverly said. “It’s a good opportunity, a good place to work. Stable.”
“Stable,” Mr. White said. “Exactly right.”
Jorge looked over at his wife. She wasn’t nervous or frightened, he realized. She actually thought this was a good opportunity. He’d been reading things into her demeanor that weren’t really there.
He was the one who was nervous.
Why?
It was nothing specific, nothing he could put his finger on. It was…everything: the meeting in the parking lot, knowing who he was, showing up at his house, all of it.
“A civil service job?” Beverly said. “Once you’re in, you’re in.”
“Let’s check out your computer,” Mr. White suggested.
Jorge led the way toward the den, feeling slightly disoriented. Whatever was going on, it still didn’t feel right, and he was surprised that Beverly had not just let two strangers into the house but was seemingly fine with their intimidating manner. Although…maybe she wasn’t fine with it. He flashed back to the expression on her face when he had first walked in, his sense that she looked like a hostage sitting between the two DMV recruiters.
“You’ll do fine!” Beverly called from the living room behind them.
He didn’t know what to think.
In the den, he booted up the computer, then stepped aside as Mr. White went to a DMV employment application website. Red words at the top of the screen said “ACCESS RESTRICTED,” but Mr. White typed in a code, then got out of the chair and motioned for Jorge to take a seat. On the screen was what looked like a multiple choice test.
Jorge frowned. “Where do I type my name?”
“No need,” Mr. Black said. “We know who you are. Just answer the questions.”
He’d expected questions about motor vehicles or highway rules and regulations, maybe simple math problems if the job involved taking money, or some sort of exercise that might show his ability to file or look up information alphabetically.
That was not what was on the test.
Jorge stared at the first question.
You meet in person a man who has been threatening you online. You see that he is physically smaller and weaker than you. He also appears to have a nervous disposition.
He is clearly not the bully that you have made him out to be. Which of the following responses is the correct one?
A. You ignore him and pretend you do not know who he is and what he has done.
B. You let him know that you realize who he is and verbally intimidate him.
C. You physically threaten him.
D. You physically harm him.
E. You kill him.
This was an aptitude test for DMV employment? Jorge turned to look at Mr. White, then Mr. Black. Both men were gazing placidly at the screen as though this sort of question was perfectly normal. He read the second question without answering the first.
Which action would you perform?
A. One which would kill your wife and parents but save 300 strangers.
B. One which would kill 300 strangers but save your wife and parents.
C. One which would kill your wife but save your parents and 300 strangers.
D. One which would kill your parents but save your wife and 300 strangers.
E. One which would kill your parents and 300 strangers but save your wife.
Feeling numb, he moved on to the next question.
In order to save your own life would you:
A. Steal money from a blind man.
B.Break the arm of an innocent child.
C. Allow a pregnant woman to be killed.
D. Kill a pregnant woman.
E. Slaughter your family with an ax.
Jorge tried to scroll down, but that was all there was. “This is crazy,” he said, looking up. Both men were watching him with equanimity. “I can’t answer those questions.”
Mr. White smiled, his teeth bright against his dark skin. “Sure you can.”
“The first one, yeah. But the other two? I’m not letting people die. And I’m for sure not committing a crime.”
Mr. Black leaned forward. “Not even to save your own life?”
“What does any of this have to do with the DMV?”
“It demonstrates decision-making skills.”
“But I wouldn’t be making decisions, would I? I’d just be following orders.”
The two men looked at each other and smiled. “Working for the DMV involves much more than just following orders,” Mr. White said.
Jorge pushed his chair back, away from the computer. “I guess I’m not what you’re looking for.”
“On the contrary,” Mr. Black said. “Lookee there. You passed with flying colors.”
In a green band bisecting the screen, in all caps, flashed the word QUALIFIED.
“I didn’t even take the test!”
“The system is designed to spot potential.”
“Congratulations,” Mr. White told him. “You have been accepted into DMV training camp. Pack up your stuff. Let’s go.”
“What is DMV training camp?”
“It’s a full-immersion course designed to get you up to speed and ready to work at he Department of Motor Vehicles. You will live, work, eat, breathe the DMV, and when you complete the course, you will be qualified to work at any one of our branches. So get some clothes together, pack up your toiletries, and let’s get ready to roll.”
“Now?”
“No time like the present.”
Jorge shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t just—”
“Oh, yes you can,” said Mr. Black.
Mr. White leaned forward threateningly. “And you will.”
FOUR
“Hello, Todd? This is Chyla Reynolds. How are you doing?”
Todd cursed himself for not having a more modern phone in his office, one with caller ID. Thinking it cool and hip and retro, as well as for reasons of personal nostalgia, he had installed his grandparents’ old rotary phone on his desk, and now it was catch as catch can every time it rang.
Chyla Reynolds was one of the people he definitely wanted to avoid. The publicist assigned to him by his publisher, Chyla was always after him to participate in hairbrained attempts to generate interest in his work that, as far as he was concerned, would lead to a complete loss of dignity and only a few individual sales. This soon after the release of a book, he should have known not to answer a call in the middle of the day and let the machine pick up.
“I’m fine,” he said, and left it at that. He wasn’t about to make her job easier.
“I know we aren’t always on the same page, publicity-wise, but I have a real one this time.”
“You got me on The Today Show?”
Chyla laughed. “Keep that sense of humor. It’s priceless. No, I’m thinking we could have you do remotes with radio stations not just in your area but throughout the state, maybe even in other states. We’d offer the new book as a prize to the first caller or the fifth caller or whatever, and you’d get on with the morning drive people and do a little back and forth. They could even set up some sort of contest where you interact with the listeners or hosts and participate in a wacky on-air stunt.”
“Are we talking Howard Stern? Sure, I’d do that.”
“No, nothing national at this point. Just local shows in smaller markets. But not just small markets,” she added quickly. “Metropolitan drivetime, too. In several major cities.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Even if you could find stations willing to go along with this, I’m pretty sure this book isn’t going to appeal to morning radio listeners. NPR, maybe. But Morning Zoos or whatever they’re calling them these days? This has disaster written all over it.”
“Think of it as a chance to cross over to a bigger, more mainstream audience.”
“They’re going to try and make me prank a listener or talk about my sex life and I’ll sell, what, like three extra copies? It doesn’t seem worth it.”
“Well, we think it’s a good plan. That’s why I brought it to you.”
Todd didn’t respond.
“O-kay,” Chyla said, finally getting the hint.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Well, unfortunately, I do have a little bad news to report.”
Todd braced himself.
“We’ve received a few complaints about…cultural appropriation.”
He felt his muscles tense. “From who? And what the hell are they talking about? My main character’s me. Or a fictionalized version of me.”
“But the neighbor is Chinese. Now, don’t get defensive, but an Asian critic has gone after your novel online. He was not happy that your character spoke broken English and mixed up ‘he’ and ‘she.’”
“But I did have a neighbor who was Chinese. He did speak broken English. And he did mix up personal pronouns. And the character I wrote is well-rounded. This isn’t Mickey Rooney, for God’s sake.”
“Yes, but the critic wrote a blog post for an Asian American literary website, and at his urging, a couple of other voices have come out and criticized your work.”
“Any publicity’s good publicity, right?”
“Not necessarily, which is why I think we should get in front of this with the radio promotion. Maybe we can even get the hosts to address the topic.”
Todd groaned.
“Come on, it’s not that bad.”
“Just tell people that this an alternate world, and in this world the main character has a Chinese neighbor who speaks that way.”
“You know that’s not going to fly.”
“Then let’s tell them the truth. This novel is based on my personal life experience.”
“But you have not had the experience of being Chinese.”
“But I have had the experience of being someone very similar to the novel’s narrator, and I did have the experience of living next to a neighbor who dropped verbs, and sometimes said ‘him’ instead of ‘her,’ and ‘she’ instead of ‘he.’”
“You’re still not Chinese.”
“Oh, my God. So I can’t use my imagination? Only white men can write about white men? Only Hispanic women can write about Hispanic women—”
“Latinx,” she corrected him.
“So how’s anyone going to write a story about aliens?” he demanded. “Or monsters? No one has ever been an alien or a monster. They’ll be misleadingly appropriating the point of view of someone they aren’t.”
“You’re blowing this way out of proportion. All we have to do is apologize, go on some radio stations—”
“Well, that’s not going to happen,” Todd told her. “This is not fact, this is fiction. It’s a world I created. And in my world, there just happens to be a person who just happens to be Chinese and who just happens to confuse his personal pronouns because, in his language, there don’t happen to be personal pronouns because the gender of the speaker is indicated by the other words used in the sentence.”
“It’s really not that big a deal,” Chyla said. “You don’t need to get that worked up about it. They just wanted me to inform you about it and suggest that you address it somehow.”
Todd paused. “So there is no real controversy. You were just using this as an excuse to get me to sign on to your radio contest idea.”
“No, it is real.”
He understood now. “Some guy on the internet complained, and you blew it out of proportion so you could trick me into talking to disc jockeys about my sex life. Goodbye, Chyla. Thanks for calling.”
“Wait—”
He hung up, feeling annoyed and out of sorts.
Looking over the computer screen at what he’d written, Todd read and reread the words before reluctantly deleting the last four paragraphs. He’d gotten off on a wrong tangent, and rather than try to write his way out of it, he decided to make a clean break, sacrifice this morning’s work and start fresh. He stared at the flashing cursor. Almost a third of the way through, he was still having a tough time, and more than once he had considered scrapping it completely and beginning anew.
One reason he’d found himself so distracted lately was the stupid DMV test that was still hanging over his head. Yesterday, he had actually gone back to pick up a booklet so he could study for it. He shouldn’t have to study—he’d been driving almost every day since he was sixteen—but his new appointment was far too close to the expiration date on his license, and if he did happen not to pass, he needed a little wiggle room. The last thing he wanted was to be grounded while he waited for a chance to retake his test.
When he’d failed his first driving test—
Cliff
—his dad had made him drive around the building, get right back in line and immediately take it again. He’d gotten a friendly older man that time and had passed with flying colors.
Unfortunately, Todd didn’t think that was possible with the written test. He was pretty sure there was a waiting period before he could take it again, although that was probably something he should look up.
Through the window, he saw Rosita’s car pull into the driveway as she returned from getting her hair done. She started work again Monday and was already beginning to prepare. Tired of sitting in his office, he went out to greet her, telling her how good he thought her hair looked, although he actually couldn’t see much difference. They walked back into the house together.
“When’s your license expire?” he asked.
“Don’t worry,” she teased him. “I can drive you around if you don’t get your new one back in time.”
“Well, drive carefully,” he said glumly. “One accident or ticket, and you’ll end up in the same boat as me.”
“Oh my God.” Rosita had opened her purse and taken out her wallet to look at her driver’s license. “Mine expires this year, too.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.” She held the license out to let him see.
Todd frowned. “Our licenses expire the same year? That doesn’t seem right. Were they the same year last time?”
“I don’t remember. I guess so. Yours was for four years, right?”
“Yep.”
“Mine, too. They always are, I think.” She put her license back. “We probably just didn’t notice because we both got our renewals in the mail and neither of us had to do anything about it.”
“Huh.” He didn’t see how that was possible, but of course it had to be the case.
“So you’re still obsessing?”
“I had a dream about the DMV, you know.”
“A nightmare, I assume?”
Todd nodded. “One of those testing nightmares. I wasn’t prepared, my pencil broke, I was running out of time, the whole nine yards.”
“Don’t you think you’re blowing this a little bit out of proportion?”
He sighed. “Probably.”
“Maybe you should incorporate something about the DMV in your next book. Everyone hates the DMV.”
“Not a bad idea,” he conceded.
The phone rang, and he let Rosita get it, hoping it was for her, but she returned seconds later, phone in hand, and passed it to him. “Robinson,” she whispered.
Yet another person he wanted to avoid.
Todd took the phone from her. “Hey!” he said, hoping his enthusiasm didn’t sound as false as it felt.
Robinson Boyd had been his friend since college. Well, maybe friend wasn’t quite the right word. Frenemy was probably more accurate. The two of them had been rivals in almost every arena: romantic, academic, professional. They’d both had similar interests and similar goals, and they’d even both dated the same girl at one point, which would have ended their friendship had she not thrown them both over for a computer science major. Now Robinson worked as a freelance journalist, and while he professed happiness at Todd’s success, Todd knew the fact that he was able to actually make a living writing fiction goaded his friend.
“Got your new book,” Robinson said. “Thanks for signing it.”
“No problem.” Todd braced himself. Either Robinson was going to faintly praise the novel before offering a harsh critique disguised as a series of friendly suggestions, or he was going to minimize Todd’s achievement by pretending he was too busy to read the book because he had more important things to do.
“I haven’t had a chance to read it yet…”
Todd smiled to himself. Not reading it was easier for both of them. They could avoid talking about the book entirely.
For the next twenty minutes, they had a conversation where Todd got in no more than a word here and there, as Robinson held forth on a variety of topics related to his life and his work and his opinions of current events. Rosita was picking squash from her garden, and it was only after Todd walked into the back yard and held his hand over the phone, telling his wife to pretend to call him for lunch, that he was able to extricate himself and hang up.
