The Driver License Division reminds us of our shared humanity

I was humbled by the Utah Driver License Division last week.
I learned I would need to make the trip there when I tried to buy Sudafed from behind the pharmacy counter during my most recent bout with COVID-19. I was turned away by the pharmacist and told my license had expired three months earlier without my noticing. In retrospect, I could have returned to the pharmacy with a passport and secured my Sudafed that same day.
But I also needed to renew my license for, you know, legal reasons. Three months is three months too long to be illegally operating a vehicle, in my opinion.
I wasn’t scared of the DLD. I was even looking forward to it a little bit, after my superb vehicle registration renewal visit last summer. That appointment went seamlessly thanks to the online appointment scheduler. Which is, in my opinion, the nationwide leader in DMV technology.
Utah implemented the appointment scheduler in May of 2020 in order to limit group numbers and personal contact. Unlike QR code menus — which have nearly driven me to quit restaurants altogether — the appointment scheduler is one of the best things to come out of the pandemic, and one of the best ways to feel superior to one’s fellow citizens.
By making an appointment ahead of time, drivers are able to breeze into the building, up to a help desk, and take care of whatever issue they need addressed. Ideally, the entire visit takes less than 15 minutes. If the driver shows up on the actual date on which they scheduled the appointment, that is.
Sometimes, though, a person has a million different things going on and is a bit distracted when scheduling the appointment and maybe doesn’t notice that instead of making an appointment for later that same day they actually unwittingly make an appointment for a full week later. Then they drive to the appointment full of optimism, expecting a 15-minute visit, only to have their entire perception of their self shaken.
So it went for me on Friday, an hour before I had an important meeting. Plenty of time. I waltzed into the Driver License Division building, strolled up to the appointment-only desk brimming with confidence, and declared my name and reservation number. I smiled the smile of a person who knows they have maximized efficiency in every second of their waking hours. While the employee pulled up my information, I turned to look out over the waiting room full of plebeians who had failed to make appointments ahead of time, miserable in their waiting. Fools, I thought. Didn’t they know there was a better, more efficient way? Why were they choosing misery when the online appointment scheduler was so easy to use?
I was jolted out of my judgment when I heard the employee say, “Your appointment actually isn’t until Sept. 20.”
“Oh, no,” was all I managed to say in response. In what felt like slow motion as the people in line behind me watched, I gathered the proof of residence I had brought with me — so confident in my preparedness — and walked, shamefully, to the back of the standby line.
I now had 45 minutes until my important meeting, and the wait time for the non-appointment-havers was roughly 45 minutes. But I wasn’t about to give up. I had everything I needed for my license renewal with me. So I rolled the dice on my wait time and took a seat among those I had pitied mere moments before.
I had been humiliated. Humbled. Tossed rather violently from my high horse. And I felt nothing but empathy for my fellow non-appointment-havers. Camaraderie even. It was us versus the appointment-makers — those elite snobs who thought they were so much better than us just because they had double-checked the auto-populated date on the appointment scheduler.
Every historical revolution suddenly started to make a lot of sense. I wondered if the man sitting next to me — the one who was watching a video on his phone at full volume — would agree to rise up in rebellion with me. Maybe the man in the bowler hat with comically large face cards tucked in the front. But then I remembered I only had 45 minutes and that probably wasn’t enough time to build a barricade.
My only choice was to sit in our shared misery and watch the numbers change on the digital board indicating whose turn it was and at which station they should go while time slipped by, getting every closer to the time I had to leave to make my very important meeting. I watched that time come and go. And then, as I was gathering my things to leave, my number was called.
And three minutes later, when I had a freshly printed piece of paper and my license and photo in hand, I felt incredible. Better, I believe, than I would have if I had used the appointment scheduler correctly. It felt like I had really earned that renewal. And not just because I paid 50 dollars for it. I had also waited for it among my fellow men and women and in so doing been reminded of our shared humanity.
But in the future I will be double-checking the date on the appointment scheduler. And the next time I need Sudafed, I’ll bring my passport.