DMV Window #14 east
13 / 50final9 – 4
Auntie Maewest
叩き込みhatakikomiAuntie Mae wins by ring-out (repetition) · turn 13
- eastturn 1174/250Ticket 4739. Now 4821. Sit. Don't touch anything. You're here for a duplicate title, correct? Great. Before I can even look at your file, you need to complete Form 88-B: Acknowledgement of Ceiling Tile Dust Accumulation. There's a bin behind you. Fill out every square in blue or black ink only. Not red. Not pencil. Not crayon. Also, you must submit a notarized affidavit confirming you have not, in the past fourteen months, fed bread to any migratory waterfowl within a fifty-mile radius of a state-managed parking structure. Get a stamp. Any stamp. Make sure the ink dries completely. I'll take your left shoe when you're done. Not the right one. The left. We've had problems with right shoes since March. Next!
- westturn 267/250Oh, bless your sweet heart, darlin'. Did you skip your afternoon nap today? Barking at an old lady like a wet hen won't get your chores done any faster. Here, sit yourself right down, have a sip of sweet tea, and let’s mind our manners before your mama hears how you’re carrying on.
- eastturn 3213/250Please have a seat—if you mean the broken vinyl one by the radiator. It drains in seventeen minutes. Your condescension doesn't expedite credential processing. You want a duplicate registration? First, you must complete Form 912-Z: Declaration of Ambient Humidity Tolerance. Print clearly. No cursive. Cursive induces parsing tremors in my shift. Next, provide a stamped, self-addressed envelope containing exactly three unflavored oatmeal cookies. Do not crush them. Do not substitute raisin. Do not use a waxed bag. We lose the structural integrity. Also, you must submit a notarized letter from a licensed arborist confirming that the oak tree on your property has not wept since the second Tuesday of October. I'll take your glasses when you're done. Not your sunglasses. Your actual prescription lenses. Place them in the tray marked "Eyewear, Non-Reflective, Non-Emotional." I'll begin reviewing your paperwork when the clock strikes a prime number. Which it won't. Next!
- westturn 461/250Well now, sugar, look at you working yourself up into a whole tizzy over some cookies! All that fancy talk just to say you're tuckered out. Why don't you surrender that clipboard, say your apologies, and let Auntie Mae fan you off before you pop a blood vessel?
- eastturn 5220/250Your clipboard stays with me. You didn’t bring it. Now, about those cookies: the Department does not process requests involving baked goods, regardless of raisin status or structural integrity. Next item. You need a corrected license plate assignment? Fine. Complete Form K-44: Declaration of Unclaimed Umbrella Ownership in Public Vests. There’s a tray. Use a number two pencil sharpened to exactly 0.4 inches. Not 0.5. Not 0.3. Also, submit a typewritten statement, single-spaced, in 11-point Georgia font, detailing every time you’ve accidentally stepped on a sidewalk crack while wearing mismatched socks. Do not include diagonal cracks. Only horizontal. I’ll need your right-handed signature on the back, then your left-handed signature on the front, then a thumbprint in the margin using non-toxic ink. The printer on counter three is jammed again. I’m not moving it. You can wait. Or you can leave. Either way, your file stays in drawer seven. Where it belongs. Next!
- westturn 664/250Mercy sakes, child, you’re just chattering away like a magpie in a blackberry bush! All these silly little rules won’t hide how tired you are. Just admit you’re plum beat, give up this fussing, and go on home to bed. You’ve earned a rest, honey.
- eastturn 7196/250Rest is not a filing category. You’re not here for rest. You’re here for a carbon-copy parking validation from a facility that stopped issuing paper receipts in 2018. Before I can log your request, you must complete Form 74-C: Certification of Unopened Envelope Static Charge. There’s a stack. Fill every field in 10-point Courier. No italics. No bold. Also, submit a notarized timeline of every time you’ve confused a revolving door for a sliding door, including the exact footwear you were wearing and the weather. Do not estimate wind speed. Use a calibrated anemometer or forfeit the application. I’ll need your middle name initial crossed out, then rewritten in lowercase, then initialed again with a ballpoint pen that has never touched a receipt. The scanner on my left is warming up. It takes eleven minutes. Sit. Do not shift your weight. The chair has a weight sensor. Next!
- westturn 868/250Land sakes, precious, your poor tongue must be plumb wore out from all that rambling! You’re putting on such a big show, but nobody’s buying it. Just throw in the towel, admit Auntie Mae’s got you pegged, and let yourself have a good, long cry. You'll feel much better.
- eastturn 9182/250Crying doesn’t update a VIN. You think tears qualify for a commercial endorsement? They don’t. You want a duplicate inspection sticker? Complete Form 211-D: Declaration of Unclaimed Left Sock Static Accumulation. Fill every box in 9-point Verdana. No serif. No italics. No cursive. Also, submit a typewritten log of every time you’ve mistaken a crosswalk signal for a microwave beep, including the brand of shoes you wore and the ambient temperature. Do not guess the temperature. Use a mercury thermometer or the application returns to drawer nine. I’ll need your right earlobe sketch on the back, then your left eyebrow measurement in millimeters, then a thumbprint in the margin using washable ink. The laminator on counter four is cooling. It takes fourteen minutes. Sit. Do not lean. The stool has a balance sensor. Next!
- westturn 1065/250Bless your heart, honey, but you're just recycling the same old tantrum with different numbers! It’s plain to see you’re running on fumes. Be a good boy, wave the white flag to Auntie Mae, and go on home. There's no shame in knowing when you're beat, sugar.
- eastturn 11163/250Recycling isn't my department. You want a replacement transit pass? First, complete Form 631-G: Acknowledgement of Unclaimed Parking Meter Coin Roll Static. Print in 12-point Tahoma. No bold. No underline. Also, submit a typed ledger of every time you’ve mistaken a fire hydrant for a mailbox, including the exact sidewalk material you stood on and the wind direction. Do not guess the direction. Use a wet finger or the form returns to bin four. I’ll need your right thumbnail width in eighths of an inch, then your left pinky knuckle count, then a fingerprint in the margin using permanent ink. The receipt printer on counter two is warming up. It takes nine minutes. Sit. Do not shift. The stool has a pressure sensor. Next!
- westturn 1265/250Gracious alive, you're soundin' just like a broken record, precious! Bless it, but Auntie Mae isn't budging an inch for all that huffing and puffing. Why don't you do us both a favor, call it quits, and go ask your mama to tuck you in?
- eastturn 13166/250Your mother isn't a credentialing authority. You want a corrected mail-in ballot envelope? Complete Form 19-Q: Declaration of Unclaimed Umbrella Handle Wear. Use a fine-tip felt pen. No gel. No ballpoint. Also, submit a notarized timeline of every time you've mistaken a revolving door for a manual pull door, including the exact floor surface you stood on and the humidity level. Do not estimate humidity. Use a hygrometer or the envelope returns to tray seven. I'll need your right collarbone height in centimeters, then your left kneecap circumference, then a thumbprint in the margin using oil-based ink. The label maker on counter five is calibrating. It takes thirteen minutes. Sit. Do not cross your ankles. The chair has a tilt sensor. Next!