My ID has expired, so I make my way to the DMV to get a new one. Due to health reasons, I can’t drive, so it’s just a state ID. I fill out the forms, take a number, and wait four hours before I’m called up.

Employee: “I will accept this, but I need you to know they might deny your ID.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Employee: “The two pieces of mail you brought in don’t count, and your lease has a different address on it.”

Me: “…my lease address and my mailing address are the same. I have no idea what you’re talking about. And why doesn’t my mail count? It’s a bank statement and a doctor’s bill.”

Employee: “They don’t count because the address is different. See?”

She points to my lease, then the mail. I finally see the difference: my lease says Address, Unit Number, and my mail says Address, Apartment Number.

Me: “Unit and apartment? Really?”

Employee: “They might refuse to give you your ID since they don’t match. It’s federal law.”

Me: “The mail is a federal service. If they can deliver my mail correctly, I’m sure my ID will be fine. But, since you’re sure, I’ll just leave and not get a new ID.”

Employee: “Okay, if you want to leave you can, but you won’t be able to fly anywhere without this ID.”

Me: “I can’t fly due to heart issues anyway.”

Employee: “If you get carded, you won’t have an ID when you want to drink.”

Me: “I can’t drink due to the same issues. It’s fine.”

Employee: “What if you need to go to the hospital?”

Me: “My passport is good for five more years. I’ll just use that as an ID. I’m disabled and I don’t leave the house except when I absolutely need to, like now. I don’t drink, don’t fly, don’t drive, and I have another form of photo ID. I don’t feel like paying nearly fifty dollars to do this, only to be told I might not get my ID in the first place.”

Employee: *Sighing.* “Look, I’ll accept it, but the government might not.”

Me: “The government should know that unit and apartment are the same thing. If they don’t, perhaps they shouldn’t be making final decisions on things.”

Employee: “Whatever. Go take the photo, you’ll get your ID in ten weeks, or you won’t.”

Me: *Matching her tone.* “Okay, whatever.”

They make me remove my glasses for the photo, which I always wear, and I look totally different without them. I go home irritated and wait.

And wait. 

Twelve weeks later, I still haven’t gotten my ID. I figure that they just aren’t going to accept it and sure enough, I get a letter in the mail stating that due to my address change, my ID was denied, but I could come back in and pay another fifty dollars to try again. I decided not to and have been using my passport as ID when I need to.

It’s happened exactly twice in the year since this happened, and it’s never been an issue. I’m aware that I’m probably causing myself issues in the future, but I really just can’t bring myself to care.

It’s June of 2021. My car’s registration tabs are due to be renewed this month, and I’ve been saving up to make sure I could pay for them. I logged into the state website on Friday, paid for my tabs, and went in today to pick them up.

Side note: our high temp today was 111F (~43.9C), and it was super humid.

When I got to the DMV, there was a line of almost thirty people standing outside. (It’s a small building, and with the global health crisis, they can only take five to ten people at a time.) I stood at the end of the line, figured, “It is what it is,” and braced myself to sweat it out.

About a minute after I got in line, a DMV employee came out and addressed the line.

Employee: “First off, thank you for your patience. We know it’s hot out, and we’re working as fast as we can. We are a bit cooler inside, and to keep it that way, we have to keep the door closed so the cool air doesn’t escape. Secondly, you must have a mask on to come inside. We don’t care if you’re vaccinated or not; masks are mandatory.”

A couple of people started grumbling about having to wear a mask in the heat.

Employee: “Lastly, if you are here for an Internet order, you can come inside right now because nobody is in line at our Internet pickup station.”

I looked around, and nobody else was moving, but I knew that I was an Internet pickup, so I passed everyone to go inside. One man spoke up as I passed him.

Man: “Why not have the Internet kiosk person help the rest of us instead of letting other people cut in front of the line?”

The employee gave him an unamused look and walked inside. I smirked at him due to the look of displeasure and annoyance on his face.

I was inside for less than a minute and then walked out with a new registration and sticker.

The guy was still glaring as I walked past him, so I shrugged and said:

Me: “Should’ve ordered online.”

The man balled up his fists and puffed out his chest.

Man: “The f*** did you just say to me?” 

The guy in front of him had to step in front of him, and I walked off and got into my nice, cool, air-conditioned car.

The cherry on top: another person who had just gotten there and heard this exchange apparently had ordered online, too, so they walked up past the angry guy and went inside to get theirs, as well, all with him staying outside in the sun.

As I drove off, I pleasantly tooted my horn and waved at him.

In hindsight, I should’ve taken a higher road and probably not have said anything. Pouring salt on it wasn’t cool on my part, but at the same time, the fact that he was that upset by me using the online tool — which is literally marketed on the state website and on all of the registration paperwork mailed out as the ability to “skip the line” — to actually skip him in line was ridiculous enough that my inner a**hole came out in that moment.

My daughter is twenty-one now. When she was eighteen, I co-signed for a car for her as she had no credit. She had a job at the time and had been there for two years, and she’s pretty responsible with money; I wasn’t worried about her missing any payments.

She did get a better job when she turned twenty. It paid more money, and she could work her way up, which she did. At twenty-one, she was offered a promotion and a significant pay raise. The only catch was that the job was in another state. [Daughter] thought long and hard about it, and even though it broke my heart, she accepted it. I wasn’t worried; I was happy for her. Her company was very good about paying her moving expenses, and they found her a decently priced apartment.

Before the move, [Daughter] researched and made phone calls to the DMV, as well as to the car tag office, to see what she needed to have everything changed over. After speaking to these places, she felt sure she had everything they needed. The tag office had asked her if the car was financed, and she has replied yes. The clerks response had been a simple “okay”.

When [Daughter] moved, she had no problems getting her license changed over. The car tag was a different story.

First, the clerk told her that her insurance card wasn’t valid, even though it said, “June 4, 2024 to January 4, 2025”. This happened in October of 2024. So, [Daughter] called me.

Daughter: “I’m confused about what the clerk needs from me.”

Me: “It sounds like you need proof of insurance that’s recent.”

Daughter: “It is; the card says it’s for June 4 to January 4.”

Me: “Show the dates to the clerk and let her know that this is recent.”

[Daughter] did that and was still told that it was not recent. So, she called me again, and I told her to ask for a supervisor. The supervisor came over, examined the insurance, and determined that it was valid and recent.

[Daughter] then called me again.

Daughter: “The clerk asked for the title for the car I’m registering.”

Me: “The car is still being financed. We don’t have a title yet; it’s not even paid off.”

Daughter: “I explained that to her, and she still said that they have to have a title.”

So, I called the bank that financed the car and asked what we should do. The bank recommended a memorandum title. Then, I called the clerk’s office and asked if that was sufficient. The clerk said yes. I also pointed out that the title is in both names since I had co-signed.

Clerk #1: “If the title says, ‘[My Name] OR [Daughter]’, there will be no problem getting it registered. However, if the title reads, ‘[My Name] AND [Daughter]’, you will have to be present when she gets it registered.”

Me: “The title says, ‘OR’.”

Clerk #1: “Okay. Then your daughter can get the car registered by herself, without you.”

So, my daughter got a memorandum title, took it to the tag office, and was told that I had to be present to get the car registered. [Daughter] called me, and I spoke to this clerk, who told me that she was a supervisor.

Me: “When I spoke to [Clerk #1], I was told that if the title said, ‘[My Name] OR [Daughter]’, I don’t have to be present.”

Clerk #2: “No, you have to be here.”

Me: “Isn’t there an alternate way to do this? I live 500 miles away.”

Clerk #2: “No, sorry. You have to be here.”

So, I took a day off from work, drove the 500 miles, and met [Daughter] at the tag office. I handed my driver’s license to the clerk.

Clerk #3: *Looking at the license* “Wow! Do you really live in [State]?”

Me: “Yes.”

Clerk #3: “You drove all the way here for this?”

Me: “Yes, that’s what the last clerk told me I had to do.”

Clerk #3: “You didn’t have to be present for this. All we need is a picture of your driver’s license. All you had to do was text it to your daughter, and that would’ve been sufficient.”

Me: “Can I talk to [Clerk #2]? She’s the last person I spoke with, and she told me that she was a supervisor.”

Clerk #3: *Looking at me funny* “I’ll be right back.”

When she came back, another lady was with her.

Me: “Are you [Clerk #2]?”

Supervisor: “No, I’m [Supervisor]. I am the supervisor over the whole department.”

I explained to [Supervisor] what [Clerk #2] had told me.

Me: “She said she was a supervisor.”

Supervisor: “No, [Clerk #2] is just a clerk, not a supervisor. I’m so sorry that you drove so far. [Clerk #3] told you the truth; you didn’t need to come along for this. It’s [Clerk #2]’s day off today, but I will be having a conversation with her later.”

A couple of weeks later, for fun, I decided to call up that tag office and ask for [Clerk #2]. The clerk who answered the phone told me that [Clerk #2] no longer worked there.

I moved to Arizona five weeks ago. The wording in Arizona’s MVD (DMV for those outside Alabama, Arizona, Iowa, Montana and New Mexico) policies meant that I wouldn’t be able to have the correct gender marker on my license.

I had my gender marker updated in New Jersey back in 2017; I had to have a physician’s letter in order to do so.

Arizona’s MVD requested a physician’s letter too, but it had to be submitted within three months of the letter being written. Soooo, that would mean I’d have to find a physician and pay out of pocket with the income I’m not making and no insurance… and have this stranger (whom I would meet with one to three hours before I could get a letter from them) write me a letter to say that I am who they think I am, because they apparently know me better than I do in my forty-seven years of living with myself. 

Mmmmkay.

I ask the clerks at the MVD:

Me: “Did you have to re-prove your gender when you got your license?”

MVD Clerk: “No.”

Me: “Would you want to have to carry a letter around and make a physician’s appointment each time you needed to update your license?”

MVD Clerk: *Looking taken aback.* “No.”

I left there feeling frustrated at best, violated at worst (by the policy, not the clerks, to be clear!).  

I don’t care so much about the gender marker, but when it’s required — because officials need to know what might be in your pants in order for you to legally operate a vehicle? — then I expect that I would be able to have my correct gender marker on my license. I didn’t request to have a gender marker on my license, just the right one since it’s required. 

The next morning the clerks that I had spoken to the day before (two of them) called me:

MVD Clerks: “We’ve been thinking and talking about the issue since you left yesterday. We had the issue escalated and got the approval to update your license with the correct gender marker! We’re contacting other offices to have the wording in their policy adjusted to prevent other people from going through the same dilemma.”

I am blown away by this type of follow up, and within 24 hours! 

I was preparing to reach out to the civil rights department and their constituent services (which I will follow up with). But this was a pretty huge step forward for trans/nonbinary folk at this MVD, and I cannot thank them enough for truly hearing me out and taking action!

This story is part of our Highest-Voted-Stories-Of-2024 (Non-Customer Stories) roundup!

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The trick to dealing with overworked, underpaid petty bureaucrats is to make it less hassle to give you what you want than to refuse.

Back when I was young and dumb and poor, I had a little scooter. It was basically a moped but without pedals. It had a 49-cc engine, making it a “motorized cycle” under California law, which did not, at the time, require a motorcycle license (or any other kind of license) to drive. I knew this.

But I got pulled over and given a ticket for not having a motorcycle license. The cop didn’t really care what the vehicle code said; it didn’t have pedals, so it wasn’t a moped, it was a motorcycle.

So, I went to the DMV to get a motorcycle license. I took and passed the written test, and then I went to do the driving part. (At the time, it consisted of literally driving around a circle of cones twice without hitting any cones. That was it.)

The woman took one look at the bike and said:

Employee: “I can’t let you take the driving test on that. It’s not a motorcycle.”

Me: “I’ll need to get your name and contact information so I can subpoena you into court to explain that to the judge because I got a ticket for not having a motorcycle license.”

She decided that perhaps it was, indeed, sufficiently motorcycle-like for me to take the driving test after all.