One of my classes this semester is an English course focused on short story fiction. Each week, we spend an hour in a computer lab writing drafts, and I’m pretty happy with how a couple have turned out already. I’ll be sharing the ones I like and my goal is to flesh out these short drafts into full treatments.
First up, is my venture into writing in second person point of view, about a trip to the DMV. After years of personal story telling on my blogs, the creative license that fiction adds is really enticing.
It’s Thursday, and you’ve got two hours between class and work. You got stuck at work late last night and only got three hours of sleep, so the day’s off to a great start. It’s pretty typical lately, burning the candle at both ends, trying to divert energy equally to all of your obligations, and that’s where you fucked up. Today’s the last day your car is registered; gone is the easy option of mailing in the card they sent out four months ago, and there’s some archaic restriction on the web site that won’t let you renew online if it’s on or after the day it expires. Your ability to drive is paramount to keeping your job, and paying out-of-pocket for school is your only option, so you make this renewal a priority because so much hinges on having a car to drive.
You’re distracted through your three hours of class, anticipating the worst. The DMV is known for taking forever, with long lines, and apathetic tellers that are less than helpful. You could be like your father, and let the registration lapse. Which, in turn, invalidates your insurance. Which, in turn, suspends your license. Which, in turn, leads to your car loan being invalidated. Which, in turn, leads you to parking the car around the corner in a buddy’s garage to keep your car from being repossessed. He drove a car like that for four years before he got caught and played ignorant to it all. Remember that time your car was uninspected for three days and you got a ticket over it? Let’s not risk your job and school over a half-hour visit to the DMV.
You get through class, get out of the parking lot, and make it to the DMV. It’s on a one-way street that doesn’t have enough parking, so you start to worry about your two-hour window. It took twenty minutes to get there from school, and of course, there’s no parking. You need to circle the block another ten minutes to snag a space. It doesn’t have blue lines, but it feels like a handicap space. More stress. Imagine your car gets towed as you’re trying to renew the registration!
You notice how the door always sticks as you go inside. How old is this damn building? After the foyer, your nose scrunches at the musty, moldy smell. Your eyes squint at the dated manila paint job, and flickering fluorescent lighting. The sign says there’s an unemployment office upstairs, and the DMV is to the right.
Your eyes widen as you round the corner to the DMV’s hallway. There’s a line out the door. Of course there’s a fucking line out the door.