I Don't Get it!

To give real service you must add something which cannot be bought or measured with money, and that is sincerity and integrity. Douglas Adams

Okay, I just returned home from the DMV. Quite frankly I don't get it. Maybe my perception is skewed. After all, I live in a world surrounded by entrepreneurial spirits. One does tend to associate with colleagues and friends similar to oneself, I suppose. Every day, I see business owners and their employees striving to extend the best customer service they can offer. I was under the impression that the tide was turning, that the revolution lead by small business owners was trickling upward to impact many levels of commercialism. Why else do I get more pleasant service at the movie theater, the grocery store, and the dry cleaners? Even my cell phone service reps are helpful and personable as of late. I could have sworn we were on an upward trend!

Enter the Department of Motor Vehicles. Talk about bursting a bubble! After losing my license in a blizzard-related mishap last week, I ventured into the DMV offering self-admonishments to eliminate any preconceived notions of the type of customer service I'd receive. Surely the revolution has extend to them, as well, no? Well....no. After circling the lot praying to the parking gods for deliverance, I finally squeezed my auto into a partially snow-covered space and went in--still smiling. Hope does spring eternal, after all. Entered building. Long wait for "info". Okay, I can handle that. As I waited in line, I glanced toward the inner room, a voyeur staring at the huddled masses of supplicants awaiting their number to be called. Every seat was full and people were standing along the walls, ready to pounce on the next available chair (don't even think about getting up to use the rest room). It wasn't pretty. I felt my optimism dim.

I looked at the faces some more. I had lots of time to do this as the line I was in was not moving, due to the fact that the overwrought staff person responsible for assisting us was on the phone. I have seen pictures of refugees in camps, malnourished children in underdeveloped countries and people told they have less than six months to live . The expressions on their faces were eerily similar to those I saw on the faces of the people at the DMV. Gloom, despair and desperation hung thickly in the air. I saw neither frustration nor annoyance--simply sadness and resignation. What more could these poor souls expect--they were at the mercy of the DMV?

As I continued to stand in line, I overheard a DMV employee telling a confused "inmate" (that's what it was beginning to feel like) that no one there spoke Spanish. The woman tried to understand with her minimal English what the employee was telling her but it was obvious that a communicative connection was not taking place.

Finally!! My turn! With my most engaging smile, I greeted the receptionist, told her my plight and produced my state-issued, certified birth certificate to show her that I am truly the person I claim to be. I eagerly extended my hand, hoping that she would bestow upon me the coveted and much-prized number--the ticket to enter the doom room on the other side of the wall to await (and wait...and WAIT) the next step in the process of obtaining my replacement driver's license.

"That form is unacceptable," she informed me. "Can't be'" I replied, my hope getting shaky, "it's what the state of Rhode Island issued to my beaming parents 48 years ago upon the joyous occasion of my birth!" "Well, we can't accept it." was the response.

I won't bore with you with the discussion that ensued. I finally left, a broken woman without a driver's license. And yes, I did drive home (without a license ) in flagrant violation of the law. Let them throw the book at me; I no longer care. Come and get me, Johnny Law, I dare you!

And that's the problem--we no longer care. We expect to be treated this way at the DMV. No one questions, no one demands change. People will protest the war, write angry letters to the editor in the face of injustice and even tell off their mother-in-law but we will not question the treatment at the hands of the DMV. Suck it up and live with it--it's just the way it is.

Sadly, I have to go back to the DMV tomorrow with different documentation. I could go back this afternoon, but I need to fortify myself first--gird my loins, (girding one's loins helps ward off the effects of dealing with they who have their knickers in a knot, I've discovered).

I will go back and I will try again, but I can't help but wonder...what if they offered cookies and coffee in the "gloom room" or a busker (think of the tips--people would be so thrilled for a diversion, they'd throw all kinds of money at the entertainer). Better still--how about a way to get a replacement license via the Internet? If the passport people can do it, why can't the DMV?

One more thing that should blow you away, but won't. As I was ending my unproductive discussion with the DMV worker, it crossed my mind that she was Hispanic and that her English, while satisfactory, was accented. As I turned to leave, I casually asked, "By the way, do you speak Spanish?" "Fluently," she replied.

Sigh......If you want to deliver good customer service, here's a tip. Go to the DMV. Observe. Then do the opposite.