Larry David must have a new show ... Part Two

The second part of my Seinfeld tale is a bit of a stretch in that it might not actually be a Seinfeld script bit. It was more made up of moments that made me whip my head around searching for the elusive candid cameras that weren't actually there. But humor me with my theme here, ok?

The DMV. That's the foundation of this story. I know, I know ... everyone has a general hatred for this God forsaken place. But given the experiences I've been forced to endure, I think I've earned a little venting session.

Let's do a little time travel back to February. (Cue Huey Lewis and The News, please.) I made a choice. A choice I know now to be a gargantuan mistake. I made the decision to switch my license plates from Kansas to Missouri. It was a tragic day emotionally, but as I work and live in the latter state, and have no immediate plans to hop back over the state line, I knew it was inevitable. Anyway, I made the appropriate trips to make the transition and grudgingly said "howdy" to the Sunflower State and "oh hey there" to the Show Me State.

Now we move to April. I've discovered that my tags (year stickers) have been stolen off my plates from my work parking lot. Suck. Taking the afternoon off to get things resolved, however, I learned this would be no easy feat. I strolled into the license bureau located inside a PetSmart in North KC. (Normal.) I handed over the necessary paperwork, and after feverish typing (yet lackadaisical in overall nature you'd expect from a license bureau employee), I was told that I was "not in the system." That's funny, you gave me the license plates two months ago. So let's hear who screwed up.

They informed me that the appropriate paperwork was not completed and I could not be put "in the system" until it was. (Again, not my fault. Someone at the DMV dropped the ball. Surprise, I know.) The large-and-in-charge - and insanely rude - woman told me that things would need to be surrendered, faxed, mailed and submitted between Kansas and Missouri. I left, annoyed, but unable to do anything more. A couple days had passed and I had not heard from the DMV as I expected to. J was carting me around and we were leaving for Western Kansas (jealous?) that weekend. I needed my plates to be in the system. I decided to make some calls myself, have some paperwork faxed to me, and I went into the DMV to hand it over in person. Big Lady went on to treat me like an idiot because she did not inform me of the entire process, and I learned that I was more under the mercy of this government office than I previously thought.

After much frustration, and nearly two weeks of being unable to drive my car, things finally got cleared up, and I got my new tags.

Now we fast-forward to the present day. Or two weeks ago, anyway. Close enough. (Sorry ... long story is not yet over.) I'm on my way to work on the interstate when I approach two police cars going five under the speed limit. Annoyed, along with several other cars, we pass them going the speed limit. Not a single mile over. I get in front of them and shortly after, I look in my rear view mirror to see the police cars speed up and put their lights on. I'm getting pulled over.

I had an internal freak out because I know I wasn't speeding ... really hoping this isn't a random cavity search. Not because I'm guilty, of course. Because that would be totally awk. Anyway, I roll down my window, and the scary he-she cop tells me the reason they pulled me over was because ... brace yourself ... my plates aren't in the system. Are you flipping serious?

I proceed to tell her the situation from February/April, tell her I have the paperwork. She proceeds to tell me I have to get into her car. Really?! So she has to call in all my information and finally tells me that I need to go to the DMV because someone didn't finish the paperwork.

Yep.

(Still don't know if I'm "in the system.")