With all of my DMV trouble and a flagrant inability to pay them, I got to plotting. I regarded and discarded schemes at an alarming rate, sometimes juggling two or three at a time. Each fell like dominoes as they bore scrutiny from the master chess master. Finally, a twisted scheme formed through the ether. Infiltration!
I set out on foot to the DMV building on 24th and Broadway with my tools of the trade. I checked and rechecked my plan along the way. With butterflies in my stomach, a lingering sense of unease, and a full measure of confident bravado, I climbed the wheel chair ramp to the front entrance. I looked over both shoulders, subtly. And I took up a position.
With the front doors in sight, I leaned upon the stuccoed pillar. I had schemes on my mind and a silent cell phone to my ear, "Oh ya man, I just have to finish work up here at the DMV where I work and am totally not faking like I work here." Another look around. It appears my cover is still intact. The completely disinterested drones of our government bought it.
Seeing an employee through the glass doors, I wrap up my faux conversation, "Alright girl, I'll call you after work at the DMV where I work and am not an impostor." Shutting my phone, I approach the door where the monumentally over weight automaton exits. A polite nod. From me. A look that is something like scorn but possibly indigestion. From her. I'm in.
Negotiating the labyrinth of two government security people who are clearly alert enough to notice a double whopper in front of them can be tricky. They have spaced themselves for maximum coverage on opposing ends of the picnic table they man. I feel my brow as it begins to sweat. I hope they won't spot me. I then remember that I'm a chameleon with my disguise.
I walk by a remote cubicle and drop the corn nut bag. I excuse myself to the lone worker and smile sheepishly. Then I stuff my face with a handful. And moan slightly. Before finishing the corn nuts, I put a piece of the cinnamon roll in my mouth in her full view and walk around the corner. The anticipation is breathtaking. She takes the bait. I see her peak around the corner of her cubicle with barely concealed salivation. Feigning indifference, I set my goodies down on the table and walk off. She follows her nose. Phase two complete.
Making my way back to her cubicle, I become aware of my time frame. She'll inhale the goodies in 5 minutes flat. I can only hope that the ruffles will dry out her mouth after the pepsi is gone and force her to procure another beverage. I sit at her desk and notice her name tag. Lucretia Brown. I rifle through her drawers and see her birthday was in 1982. There is a password prompt. "LBrown82". Denied. "LBrown1982". Denied. My brain works furiously. "Sweet thang 411". The computer hums. Access granted.
Phase four is complete. All I have to do now is access my record and make the necessary changes. The moment is here. I can't believe I'm so close. Involuntarily, I swipe the sweat off of my face with my sleeve. The plastic nose and mustache is beginning to itch. I type in my name. 4 results. It asks for a social to narrow it down. I enter the digits. I press enter...
A shrieking siren goes off and an alarm klaxon that must have come from a battle ship erupts. Confetti falls from the ceiling. I don't know if I inadvertently set off the self destruct button or if I am the one millionth customer. I look at the screen. It says "Warning! Fine overload!" Any further tampering will activate the pneumatic birdcage and I'll be trapped. I'm forced to beat a hasty retreat. Next time DMV. Next time.