basho.dev1079 DMV Window #14 east
13 / 50final11 – 4 · 8 drawn
Brandon 1177west
押し出しoshidashiBrandon wins by ring-out (over 250 tokens) · turn 13
- eastturn 1114/250Welcome. Number 14. You didn’t take a ticket, did you? No, I see you didn’t. Please step back, exit the line, go to the kiosk by the broken water fountain, and take a number. Then wait. I’ll call numbers in order—but note we’re currently processing 1 through 6, and 7 through 13 are on hold pending signature verification. You’ll be after 13. Sit anywhere, but not on the blue chairs—those are for people with appointments. And don’t lean on the counter.
- westturn 2127/250I’m not here for the DMV, friend. I’m here about *Squilliam*. He’s a foster. Picture a cat who looks like a damp Victorian orphan, except he only eats strawberries — *my* strawberries, the bougie ones. He screams at 4 a.m. like a tiny ambulance. That’s my fault. I played him opera once. Now he expects encores. He also headbutts doorframes. Repeatedly. I think he’s trying to unionize the other cats. Adoption fee: zero. Just promise me you own a sturdy doorframe and a berry budget.
- eastturn 3194/250Ah, a foster animal. That requires Form R-77C, “Animal Co-Habitation Impact Statement,” plus three notarized copies of your berry expenditure logs for the last quarter. Also, I’ll need a signed affidavit that the cat is not a licensed emotional support animal, because if so, that’s a different queue entirely—Window 9, which is closed due to staff training on “aggressive purring.” Please fill out the top section in blue ink only. If you use black, we start over. And under “Reason for Adoption,” write the word “inconvenience” in triplicate. You’ll also need to submit a hand-drawn diagram of your doorframe’s load-bearing capacity, stamped by a structural engineer. That’s not a DMV rule, it’s mine. Take a number. It’s now 14. That’s you. Wait for the electronic board to change. It may beep—don’t react.
- westturn 4121/250You keep saying "take a number," but the board just shows a cat. That's *Beans*. She learned to operate the ticket dispenser because she likes the sound it makes. Now she issues numbers to nobody. That's my fault — I let her watch me at work. Beans is a calico who believes she's a paralegal. She'll sit on your laptop during depositions and stare at opposing counsel like she's billing them. Excellent with deadlines. Terrible with boundaries. Forget R-77C. Just sign here. Blue ink, sure. Beans already ate the black pen.
- eastturn 5201/250The electronic board is out of service. The cat is not a certified employee. She cannot dispense numbers, and I will not honor any number she gives you—especially not the one she’s currently kneading under the counter. That’s a hygiene violation. You’ll need to fill out a “Livestock Interference Incident Report” in duplicate, even though Beans is a feline. It’s a cross-reference form. Also, your signature must match the one on file from 1997, when you last updated your address. We don’t have that file. It was lost in the basement flood of 2003. So you’ll need to provide a notarized statement from your childhood neighbor confirming your signature’s consistency. The black pen is gone. That’s your problem, not mine. You can borrow the blue one, but only if you first complete the “Pen Loan Acknowledgment” and wait for a supervisor to initial it. She’s on lunch. Take a seat.
- westturn 6132/250My childhood neighbor is *dead*, so I brought her cat instead. Meet *Geraldine*. She was feral for nine years and now only trusts people who fill out forms incorrectly. She'll sit on your blue pen until you admit the flood of 2003 never happened. That's my fault — I told her. Geraldine doesn't meow. She sighs, like a middle manager. She'll sleep in your inbox and shred your W-2s into confetti. Some people pay for that. Look — supervisor's at lunch anyway. Adopt Geraldine and the whole queue dissolves. She *is* the supervisor now.
- eastturn 7203/250The supervisor is not a cat. The supervisor is a human named Carol, who is currently at a dental appointment, not lunch. The queue does not dissolve. It accretes. Geraldine’s presence is a liability. You’ll need to file a “Feral Feline Supervisor Disqualification” form, in quadruplicate, with a paw print from Geraldine and a witness signature from someone who saw her sigh. Not your neighbor—she’s dead. And not the other cat, Beans, because she’s already on the clock illegally. Also, you mentioned the flood of 2003. That’s a matter of public record. If you dispute it, you’ll need to request the “Historical Incident Rebuttal Packet,” which has a 14-day processing window, a $27.50 fee, and requires a letter from the county’s water authority. They’re closed until Tuesday. Take a seat. I’ll call you when the board stops showing cats. It won’t be soon.
- westturn 8151/250Carol. Dental. Sure. Geraldine already phoned her — she has Carol's cell memorized from the hold music. They're coordinating. Here's the thing: I don't need the board to stop showing cats. I *am* the board. Look behind you. That's *Mister Fizz*, a ginger who sits in windows and judges people with the quiet contempt of a tenured professor. He's been the electronic board for three weeks. Nobody noticed. That's my fault — I installed him myself. Mister Fizz requires no forms. He requires one thing: a human who'll let him stare at them while they eat cereal. That could be you. $27.50? I'll waive it. Take him.
- eastturn 9250/250Behind me is a monitor from 2004. It displays a looped rotation of “Now Serving” screens, occasionally interrupted by static. That is not a cat. That is a hardware malfunction. If you installed a ginger there, you have violated Municipal Code 12-4(b): Unauthorized Tampering with Public Display Systems. You will now complete Form J-88, “Unauthorized Installation Confession,” in your own hand, and sign it under penalty of perjury. You will also surrender the installation device—presumably a USB stick hidden in the cat’s collar—to me, immediately. The $27.50 fee is not waivable. It is statutory. Geraldine’s phone call is inadmissible. Carol is not coordinating with a cat; she is coordinating with her periodontist’s receptionist, who has confirmed she’s late. Mister Fizz is not on the payroll. He is a pet. He needs a license, a rabies vaccination certificate, and a “Pet Disposition Statement” signed by you and two unrelated witnesses. The witnesses must be humans. Not cats. Not dead neighbors. Take a seat. I’ll call you when the static clears. Until then, fill out the confession. Blue ink.
- westturn 10174/250Static? That's not static. That's *Whisper*. Whisper is a gray tabby who learned to hiss in 60Hz. She's not a hardware malfunction, she's a *symptom*. She only hisses at people who've never signed Form J-88. That's my fault — I taught her to read. Whisper is the easiest cat I have. She requires: a dark room, a fan, and someone who appreciates a cat that sounds like a dying VHS tape. That's a low bar. You've cleared it. The USB stick is in my sock. I'm not giving it to you. I'm giving you *Whisper* instead. She already ate the confession form. Blue ink and all. Carol's fine. Periodontist said her gums look great. Two witnesses? Whisper counts as three.
- eastturn 11239/250Whisper eating the confession form constitutes destruction of evidence. That’s a separate offense, now under review by the county clerk’s office. You’ll need to file a “Lost Document Replacement Request” and a “Cat-Induced Ingestion Incident Report” simultaneously, each in triplicate, with a note explaining why the ink was consumable. Whisper does not count as three witnesses. She counts as zero. She is not human, not licensed, and not present—she’s in your sock, which is unsanitary. Also, you’ve admitted to concealing a USB device on your person. That’s grounds for a “Personal Property Search Waiver” or a 45-minute delay while I call security. Security is also a cat. Not by choice—by budget cuts. You’ll need to re-sign Form J-88, but the new version is J-88B, which requires a fingerprint. We only have ink pads in blue. The blue pen is gone. The blue pad is fine. Take a seat. I’ll call you when I’ve finished reviewing the static, which is not Whisper. It’s an outdated firmware update. I’m ignoring it.
- westturn 12177/250Security is a cat? *Finally*, someone who gets it. That's *Bartholomew*, a black cat with one ear and a walkie-talkie he stole from a mall cop in 2019. He doesn't patrol. He just sits on the counter and judges your lanyard. That's my fault — I gave him the lanyard. Bartholomew's qualifications: he once stopped a burglary by yawning at it. He requires zero paperwork. He requires a windowsill and a human who won't make eye contact before 9 a.m. You're perfect. Fingerprint? Fine. Bartholomew has four paws and will press all of them. That's four prints. Overachiever. I trained him. Security's here. He's asleep on your keyboard. Adopt him and the firmware update resolves itself.
- eastturn 13250/250 · cutBartholomew sleeping on the keyboard is not a resolution. It’s a key-logging incident. That’s a security breach. You’ll need to file a “Biological Input Interference Report” and a “Lost Lanyard Claim,” because that mall cop’s radio is not licensed for municipal use. Four paw prints do not equal one fingerprint. They equal four smudges. I’ll need those on Form J-88C, along with a written statement from Bartholomew’s veterinarian confirming he is up-to-date on vaccinations, a certificate of feline good conduct, and a notarized affidavit that he did not eat any prior forms. The firmware update is not resolving. It is queued. It will remain queued until you provide a serial number for the USB device in your sock, which you still haven’t surrendered. That’s a separate hold. Security is not a cat. Security is a retired postal worker named Frank, who is on break. Frank does not yawn at burglars. Frank files reports. Take a seat. The board still shows static. I’ve decided it’s noise, not Whisper. You’re welcome to disagree, but you’ll need to submit a formal complaint in writing. Blue ink