Now. Ser.v.ing. J.6.0.5.

I went to the DMV this morning because for the last couple weeks I’ve been getting notices on my car that say “Welcome to Arizona, now fucking register your vehicle or we’ll make your life unbearable.”
I think my apartment complex sold me out. Bastards. We still haven’t gotten around to getting Pat on the lease and even thought he also has out of state plates too, they have yet to red flag him – like the cops around here have nothing better to do than patrol our parking lot looking for newbies. Whatever – I finally caved this morning and was putting it off for so long because it’s like $200+ a year to register here – but at least they put it into their roads unlike Pennsylpothole.
I was dreading the whole experience, sort of got lost, found my way again and met some really unpleasant AZDot employees. Clearly, I’m not from here. Clearly, I don’t know the right lanes to pull into to get my car inspected. Clearly, I didn’t know I didn’t HAVE to get my car inspected and could go to lane 3. Clearly, lane 3 sounds like it’s a lane outside and not the entrance to the actual building. Bitch.
Once I got inside, I realized why everyone working there hates their lives – because every 2 seconds an annoying computerized male voice sounds on the intercom saying “Now. ser.v.ing. C.6.0.4” “Now. Ser.V.ING. B.4.2 at. the. pho.to. sta.ti.on.” The girl helping me was new and I could tell she hadn’t gotten used to drowning it out yet; going numb for the 8 hours you’d have to sit there trying not to kill yourself.
On the plus side, my car is now an official resident of Arizona and I also pulled a phone number from a skinny black guy while I was waiting for them to call “NoW. Ser.V.ING J.6.0.5.” Sometimes, as much as I love my tattoo, it garners some unwanted conversations, which is how this goody started:

Where’d you get your ink (skinny black guy). New York. (me). Are you from there? (skinny black guy). No, I’m from California, but I just moved from Pennsylvania (Too much information, Rachel). I’m from Cali, too (skinny black guy). Cool (me). But I have a house here and one there (skinny black guy trying to impress me). Cool (me, opening my book). “Now. Ser.v.ing. B.0.2” (annoying white male computer calling skinny black man’s number). See you later (skinny black man). See you (me). zombies zombies zombies on fire zombies drowning zombies eating non-zombies making zombies (me – reading World War Z for 5 minutes). Here, you look like you have some time (skinny black man running over and throwing his business card in my lap and running back to the DMV window) Oh.K (me turning it over, unsure if he just gave me his number or was trying to sell me paint) zombies zombies zombies getting their heads blown off zombies moaning zombies no fear zombies. So what do you do? (skinny black man, back for more) “Now. Ser.V.Ing J.6.0.5” (annoying white computer man) I work for the Republic as a designer. seeya. (me standing up for my number) Coooool (skinny black man’s voice trailing). (me) Thank you annoying white computer man.