From tags to tugs at the County DMV

Does anyone actually understand the wait numbering system used at the Florence County Department of Motor Vehicles?

I'm sure there must be some rhyme or reason to the letter / number combinations that call five lucky "D" ticket holders, two "J"s and an "E" to the counter before a single "A", "B", or "C".  But, whatever it is, it certainly isn't obvious to the room full of captive customers patiently - or not so patiently – waiting to get their license, renew their tags, or to partake in any of the numerous services the DMV provides. 

It doesn't matter who you are, plumber, tailor, doctor, ... editor, once that stub of paper with its single letter/three-digit combo gets pulled you become hostage to the red flashing lights commanding the room.

There's no going to the bathroom, no stepping out for a smoke, no running to the car for a blessed moment of solitude. Well, you could - but you take your chances. If you leave there's no way of knowing if your number is up. On one particular morning 38 minutes or so passed between the C203 stepping away from the counter and C204 being called to service at window seven; five seconds passed between the calling of three consecutive "D" tickets. 

Whatever happened to a simple A001 to A999 followed by B001? At least then those sitting in the seats would have some idea of just how long their sentence will be - and be able to gauge if they'd incur extra time for stepping into the restroom for some relief.

However, most people expect the dreaded wait time of the DMV waiting room and are resigned to sitting on the hard seats, when an empty one can be found, for a while. But, we don’t all expect some of the more personal encounters that can be visited upon the hapless customers.

Such as a tug on a pony tail. No, not the actual tail of a pony, nor that of the horse that periodically visits a certain Scranton gas station with his owner for fuel (don’t worry, it’s crackers they are after). But the sort of pony tail that those with long locks use to keep strands of hair from billowing in their faces on a blustery day or when they simply ran out of time to do anything else with it of a morning.

Not since high school have I experienced such a tug outside a sisterly spat. Not until one captive morning in the DMV. Turning around I fully expected to see someone I knew grinning and ready to say “hi, fancy running into you here.”

Nope.

Instead, just a friendly, older, “gentleman”, who saw fit to act on a whim and tug on the tresses of a total stranger. With a simple “Hello” and a grin, the man simply sat down and continued on his merry wait while I, twisted in my seat, sat dumbfounded (anyone who knows me should find that near-impossible to believe) staring at him.

???!

Perhaps I should take it as a compliment that my crowning glory of a mane is apparently irresistible. Somehow I doubt that - some areas I’ve lived those are fighting actions.