Yet it took me six visits, over a torturous four-month span, to get the piece of plastic everyone needs, the one with the ugly photo. Two years ago I went to DMV, Montebello office, to renew my driver’s license, a rather routine chore for most. Why then, you might wonder, would a nondescript government entity hold such a place of terror? Faithful CR2S followers are all too familiar with my DMV histrionics, so a short recap for the benefit of newbie uninformed: I’ve had medical probes of my nose, down my throat, and up my, er, lowest orifice and lived to write about them not to forget having stomach lanced and spine fused. What is the accepted standard for true pain and suffering: Root canal? Mother-in-law? Fran Drescher’s laugh? A Kobe Bryant television commercial? Kobe Bryant?Īll are in the running, including the possible disappearance of “O”, but for Crossroads to Somewhere, *hands down, it’s the Department of Motor Vehicles.
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