I’ve been driving on expired license plates since Wednesday, so on my way home this evening I stopped at Star City Hall to visit the DMV extension there. It is a small office in a small town, run by one woman
working alone. My (clearly flawed) thought process was “small office, small town, beginning of the month, quick trip,” so the discovery upon my arrival that I was the fourth person in line made me wonder if I should keep driving on expired plates until Monday.

But as I walked into the lobby a fiftyish woman with dye-gone-awry purple hair looked up from her computer at me, past the one customer she was helping and the two others hovering around her counter. The office behind her was filled with enough flowers to be mistaken for a funeral or a hospital room. While I was distracted by the flowers I heard her say, “Come over and talk to me, hon.”

(Sidebar, Your Honor…does anybody else get called “hon” or “honey” a lot? I get this all the time, usually from hair stylists and convenience store clerks. I even understand it from hair stylists; it is kind of the culture of Stylistia…but convenience store clerks? Who besides a hair stylist calls a tubby 40-year-old guy “hon”? It makes me feel a little icky, but whatever. Thanks for listening, Judge. I feel much better now.)

I thought there was no way she could be talking to me so at first I did nothing except stand there like a lost dad (I have that look down, by the way), but then she repeated herself. “Come over and talk to me. Tell me what you need.”

Get ‘er Done

When I approached the counter, I immediately understood what was going on. She had the paperwork for the other three guys lined up on the counter like quarters on a Pac-Man arcade back in the Eighties. No need to stand in line; she had everyone queued up in order, so we were all free to have a seat and relax.

As it turned out I was the only person with a simple case; everyone else was dealing with some gnarly title issues or the intricacies of boat trailer registration vs. utility trailer registration. So I had a little time to wait and play on my phone. Except I didn’t play on my phone. What happened over the next several minutes was much too interesting to not watch.

Remember: This is the DMV. It is supposed to be nightmarish bureaucracy handled at a glacial pace by inefficient, rude government pencil-pushers. This DMV had the nightmarish bureaucracy. But that’s it. I was amazed at how efficiently this woman managed not only the chaos right in front of her, but also how smoothly she handled the four people who came through the door after me.

But it wasn’t just her efficiency. She was very to the point with everyone because circumstances demanded it, but she was also very kind and respectful at every point with every person in her lobby. I’m not sure I’d call her “friendly,” which in my mind indicates that small talk and cake will eventually be involved.  Besides, it is hard to be friendly when you are up to your elbows in state forms while plugging away at your computer and asking questions of the customer in front of you.  So “friendly” might not be the most precise word to use…but she was absolutely, totally kind and respectful.

I need to follow this woman around and learn how she does everything, I thought. It would probably make me a better registrar.  My world can’t be that different from this purple-haired lady running a DMV office by herself.  So I watched everything she was doing, studied how she interacted with everyone, continued to be amazed by how skillfully she did several things at once without stripping a few gears (like I probably would), and listened to her interact with her customers. That’s how I found out that all those flowers were in her office because she was retiring. In fact, she was retiring today. After the office closed in less than half an hour. How crazy, when I usually renew my registration at the DMV office by the college, that I picked today of all days to come here?

“Bless You”

At last it was my turn. She was on the phone with one customer and getting another new customer into her queue, but somehow already had my new registration card printing off as I got to the counter and wrote out my check. “Thanks for being so patient and kind. I appreciate you.”

That’s not what I said to her.  She said that to me.  I am a habitually polite person, but I can’t hold a candle to her in kindness.  Nobody expects the lady at the DMV to be polite, and here she was putting on a clinic in how to treat people right.  That, and then telling me that she appreciates “me.”  Not “I appreciate it,” meaning whatever nonspecific things I had done since walking in the door and beginning my transactional interaction with her. “I appreciate you.”  She was communicating a genuine value for a fellow human being, albeit a total stranger, in a way that is completely foreign to anything I have ever expected at the DMV (or even a convenience store).

I gave her my check, she gave me my new registration card and stickers, and our business was concluded.  I wished her a happy retirement.  Already beginning to sift through the next customer’s paperwork, she replied, “Thank you for your kind and respectful words.  Bless you.  I appreciate you.”

I swear I am not making this up.  This happened to me, today, barely an hour ago: I was treated with uncommon kindness and affirmation by an incredibly busy woman at the DMV who was 15 minutes away from retirement. My head is still spinning a little trying to process all that. Talk about doing it right, every part of it, right up to the end. I hope I can master kindness combined with competence to that degree by the time I retire, too.

rk