Most Californians dread the trip to DMV. Even if you made an appointment, you still enter a long queue. Then you are shuffled from one counter to another, each time just to enter another queue. The people behind the counter are usually, uh, lacking courtesy or the willingness to help. At the end, you ran out of the building mentally exhausted, probably emotionally abused.
So I took a deep breath when I arrived at the county building in Seattle. When I entered the room, I was astonished to find no line what-so-ever. A sign pointed me to a desk. I sat down (!!) in front of this nice lady. She asked some questions, got my paperwork, and started typing to her terminal. We started to ask some questions and actually chit-chatted. When she produced two pieces of paper for us to sign, I asked, “So how long would it be for the plates to arrive at my mailbox?” She gave me a wry smile and handed me the plates, after she applied the registration stickers for me. “Welcome to Washington,” she said.
I allocated 90 minutes for this errand and ended up at work 10 minutes earlier.
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