Dimwitted Moronic Vapidity

I napped both weekend days.  The full impact of what we had seen, felt, and lived finally hit.

But I was proud of myself.  Proud of us, really.  We had this scary big accident.  And we handled it with wits and grace. We were organized, thoughtful, and calm.  We had our act together.  Go Peace Love Bossy!

The police officer had emphasized that we had 72 hours in which to report the accident to the DMV. "If they receive my report, and they have not heard from you within the 72 hour window, you will be in trouble." 

I left work early on Monday to trudge off to the DMV.

Who looks forward to that?

But I would be okay.  I had my documents in place.  I had the police report in hand.  No big deal.  Right?

I found out what is worse than a car accident: reporting that accident to the DMV.  The dummy vee.

I'm not sure what exactly did it.  The incomprehensible forms?  The byzantine system of waiting in different lines to make it seem like a person is not really waiting as long as he is?  The callous and dismissive "service"?  The lackadaisical approach to attending to customers?  The hemming and hawing over a form that has been filled out correctly?  I'm not sure what did it, but when I left that place my heart was thumping with anger.  Doofus, moron, vee.... Humph!