Waiting For Something
Another hour later, when our number was called, a freckled woman began processing our form. She seemed less interested in giving us a hard time. My mother's license picture had already been taken (she did smile, too). The lines were long.
Tip (with bonus irony): It also occurred to us that we could present this clerk with-- that's right-- the WI Vehicle Registration document we'd obtained on our last visit. It was, after all, a recent state government-issued document with her address on it. And so we did.
Now, I asked the freckled clerk, "Is it always like this in here? These lines?"
"Thursdays, yes. I think it's because we open late," she said. Then, almost under her breath, she said, "It doesn't help that half our staff has been cut."
"Was that over time or... recent?" I asked.
"Recent," she said. She gritted her teeth. "I mean, it's not like I don't have a family at home who needs me."
Yes. That was it, exactly. As I escorted my mother, who'd moved here to be with her family, to the door with her approved paperwork in hand, we passed:
- a 50-ish woman pushing her disabled, disoriented father around in a wheelchair from line to counter to waiting area to counter
- a young mother holding the hands of two kids, while her foot rocked a newborn in its car seat
- men and women of working age, including one guy in a suit, who was clearly on a break from work
- and that mom from the beginning of the day, first in line,with her two little kids, who I chased down in the bathroom
True, not all of them were seeking IDs. True, I don't know their real stories. But I'd bet a huge number of those folks had a lot of other, better, and perhaps wage-earning things to do with their time --as did the loved ones in their care. How many others-- with unyielding schedules, dependents to care for, lack of knowledge, or simple frustration-- didn't even make it into line that day? How many, if refused as we were, would have left and stayed away?
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