Hang On!

Hang On!

I got to go to the DMV today. Whoopee! In Missouri, the DMV is known as the Department of Revenue, because that’s what it really is all about. I have been visiting this purgatory for almost forty years now and I’ll probably be back again later this week. I’ve got more than one car to register, don’t you know. When you visit the DMV gods, their petty and petulant nature will be on full display, unless you have all of your little pieces of paper with you.

First, you need your personal property tax receipt from the previous tax year(s). Cars like land are considered taxable property, even if one of them is not going anywhere and the other is. I needed receipts for the past two years, so that I can register the car for two years and not have to repeat this process again next year. Next, you need proof that this vehicle is insured. Finally, you need the all important state inspection certificate. This was the 2011 Prius that I registered, so the safety inspection was nothing and the emissions inspection was even less. What I did not have, was the paper that they normally mail to you that when stamped becomes the new registration. Fortunately, they’ve updated their process and I didn’t need that piece of paper. It never amounted to much anyway, what was way more important were the two little license plate tabs. These colorful little numbers are watched by the cops and like Dave found out last week. you can be ticketed for expired plates. I have to get his car inspected, before I can repeat this process. 

While I was waiting for my turn, I took the opportunity to observe some of my fellow Missourians. The DMV offers an excellent cross-section of the state’s population. There was the guy ahead of me that was paying a thousand dollars to register his vehicle. I paid less than fifty. There was the old lady that needed help signing in on the iPad, but the nice young man ahead of me helped her out. Finally, there was the old guy with the walker and his wife, who I asked if they needed more room to sit-down. I should have just slide down and taken the nice young man’s seat at the end, because the guy with the walker said, “I don’t, but she probably does.” She and I shared a look. Then it was my turn…

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