A So Cal Girl in the Desert

This morning I set out to the Arizona MVD, or Motor Vehicle Division (of the Transportation Department). Like the DMV, but not. After doing research online and on the phone (just to be sure), I figured out everything I needed to get a new driver license, plate, and registration, so off I went.

My first step was to get a smog check. Since my car needed gas and I know where the nearest gas station is, I went there for a fill up and some information. While my car was drinking, I asked if the "Brake Stop" next door did smog checks. What I said, exactly, is "Do you do smog checks here?" The guy said "Except what?" Um. "Smog Checks?" I said. "Oh, um...no," he said. How helpful! Realizing that I was getting no where fast, I went inside the gas station. Surely they would know of a place. "Excuse me, please. Could you please tell me where the nearest place is to get a smog check?" The lady gave me a look as if I was speaking a foreign language, and she looked rather dim, in general. She asked, "A smog check? What's that?" You've got to be kidding me! Then it dawned on me...you're not in a foreign country, Kristen, but you might as well be..."You know, emissions?" I asked, with a smile. "Oh! You need an emissions test?" she inquired. "Yes," I declared with confidence. "Just go to the MVD on Beck," she instructed. Huh? I said (mostly because she looked dim) "They don't do emissions tests at the MVD." She gave me a really blank, absent-minded look. "Yes they do. Well, I mean, right next to it." I said, "Well, okay, thanks," and walked out.

"Hi honey," I called my husband. "These people, one, don't know what a smog check is, and two, are telling me to get an 'emissions test' at the MVD." "At the MVD?" he asked with a laugh. "Yup," I said, laughing back. I told him that my plan was to drive over there, check it out, and if there's no place to get an emissions test, I'll just ask at the MVD. "Good idea," he said "and keep your eyes peeled for places that do smog checks on your way."

I follow my Mapquest directions to the MVD, and lo and behold, I find a sign that says "Emissions Testing for MVD Here" with a big ol' arrow. So I follow. Once I pull up to the Jiffy-Lube type stall line, a giant dude comes up and tells me I have to go in the other entrance and get a ticket. K. So I go back where I came from and pull in front of this gate. The machine next to me says "Pull for ticket," so I do. But I have to yank so hard I think I sprained my arm. Then the gate magically opens and leads me right exactly to where I was before. Another sign says "Stay in your car. Leave engine running. Wait for further instructions." Aye-Aye. After a few minutes, I am waived forward, and I get to drive my own car right onto those spinning things they don't let you drive onto in CA. All this time I'm thinking...here I am...right next to the MVD...this surely is another one of those conspiracies against Californians...I'm gonna get ripped off and end up paying twice as much as I would if I had taken the time to find a real smog–er, emissions–place. Oh, well, at least it's conveniently located. So after I pull up, the guy tells me "You can either wait in the passenger's seat, or wait in that little booth," which is right next to the car. I opt for the booth. Once I'm in (for protection, I presume, even though it's like half a foot from my rear tire, and now we've involved glass), he says "It'll be $27.75 when we're through" and points to a sign that tells me they accept Arizona bank checks and cash. Good thing I have cash.

In the thirty seconds that passes while they're testing my Jeep, I started to feel like I was being sucked into some "Zonie process" that I knew nothing about. Just sort-of aimlessly drifting...thinking I'm doing the right thing...but fearful that I'm not. "DONE!" the dude says, and ushers me back into my car. "Pull up." I do. Another dude. "$27.75," he says. I give him thirty bucks, he gives me change and a piece of paper that says I passed, and points to the MVD. I ask, "Just out of curiosity, are all the emissions testing facilities next to and associatied with the MVDs?" "WHAT?" he screams and takes out his flourescent orange ear plug. Reluctantly, I repeat myself. "Yes," he says. No further explanation. And he gave me this weird look, too. I giggled and said "This is all new to me." He just walked away.

I go where he pointed and follow the MVD signs and arrows straight into a stall with a sign that says "All out-of-state vehicles must be inspected first." First? How do they already know what I'm here for? Those Zonies have got it goin' on! There's another stupid Californian in front of me, so the chick with the wet towel around her neck tells me to pull next to him and turn off my engine. So I do. Instantly, I'm baking. I unzip my window and wonder if this is part of the test. Like, you have to be able to sit in your car, motionless, without AC, for an undetermined amount of time, before they will give you an AZ license. Since my window is open and so is the other stupid Californian's, I hear her ask "Is your car tan or gray?" He says "I call it Champagne." Stupid Californian. He MUST be from L.A. I start to giggle. He must be more FOB than me, thinking they do "Champagne." "We only have tan and gray, so you're tan," she tells him. Ha ha. I'm not as stupid as you are...I'm singing in my head as sweat collects on my lower back and drips between my boobs.

He finally drives off, and I'm up. She takes enough notes about my license plate to write a dissertation while my pits are flowing like Niagra Falls. She asks me most of the same questions, but doesn't inquire about my vehicle color. She just writes down "gray." I would have preferred "silver," but I learned my lesson from those who went before me. I reckon they don't have fancy colors like silver. I sign. She hands me a paper, which I assume means I passed my vehicle inspection (but don't ask), and tells me to park and go inside. I do.

I get in this big long line even though I really want to turn around and go "home." But I'm determined. So I stay in the line, and it moves surprisingly fast. REALLY fast. Nice! This is nothing like the CA DMV! (As if I didn't know that already.) I get to the front and I tell the lady, "I'm from California." She asks, "Do you want an Arizona driver's license?" "Yes." I say. She asks if I have my CA driver's license and a second form of ID. "Yes," I say, and start to take everything out. "Oh, no...I don't need them...I just want to make sure you have them, " she says. K. "Yeah, I have them." I pretened to lie, for fun. What if I didn't have them? Heh heh. She has me look into some box. I say what I see. Some lights flash to check my perepherial vision, and she hands me a number. B091. I sit. I read. I look at all the sixteen-year-old "cool boys" studying with their mothers. Heh heh.

In a calm, computerized voice, "Now serving B091 at window 10." Right on! She speaks English, is pretty, and has on an Abercrombie t-shirt. In about four minutes she had signed me up for two years of registration (at a discount), my new DL, and my new "Pet Friendly/Spay & Neuter" license plate, which I knew I wanted before I came in, so there. $34 of the $50 two-year fee goes to spaying and neutering animals, plus instead of the mountan and cactus picture, I get to have a stylized dog and cat on my plate. Perfect! I'm soooooo excited about that! She gives me my receipt, clips my CA DL to my paperwork, and points me over to "the guy in the blue shirt who will take your picture."

I go over to him. He has me sign this little paper the size of a business card "on the line within the white box." Then he takes my picture. "Please wait for it to be printed." "For what to be printed?" I ask, "My actual driver license?" "Uh-huh." He says, and looks at me strangely. As if I'm a stupid Californian or something. He hands me my license. The actual thing. It expires in 2041. I don't need a new license until I'm 65. Unless, of course, I do something crazy like move out of state. There's a sixteen-year-old right next to me jumping up and down with his friends. I remember that feeling. Now, all I want to do is go home and have a beer.