We made two wrong turns on the way to Concord. “I never get pulled over,” my friend said, speeding twenty over. It turns out that Waze isn’t as reliable as it seems. I stumbled into the DMV at 3:43.
“Hi, I had an appointment for my knowledge test. Sorry I’m a little late,” I said to the lady at the counter, praying that bureaucracy would show a rare mercy. But as soon as I opened my mouth, I noticed her lips begin to curl under her mask. It was as if, knowing exactly what I was about to say, as it had been said so many times before, she wanted to spare me the embarrassment. Then the expected came.
“We stopped at 3:30. You’ll have to come back another day,” she said, looking at her computer. It was entirely matter of fact, totally binary, bafflingly logical. No leeway, hard cut-off.
“Ah, I see,” I said, pretending to put thought into it, because one has to do this – this interaction, even hypothetically, is etched into everyone’s memories and imaginations in a way that makes thinking of a response unnecessary, yet somehow needed.
“So, do I just book another appointment or...?” I knew that I had to book another appointment.
“Yes, just call us up. Do you need the number?” She reached for a redundant piece of paper.
“Oh, yes please.” I have the number. Everyone has the number. That isn’t the problem. I thanked her and walked out, folding the sheet neatly into my pocket, so as not to offend the gods of the Department of Motor Vehicles. My friend, my reluctant chauffeur, was waiting outside, all his weight on one leg. He was still wiping the 60-miles-and-change off his forehead.
“I’ve got some bad news for you,” I started, though it was really mostly bad news for me, “we’ll have to come back next week.”
His eyes opened wide, the futility of this wasted afternoon dawning on him.
“Are you serious? That’s...so...stupid.”
“Yeah,” I said, “so stupid.” We stood there for a moment staring at our laces.
So I went back inside. “Hi...” I approached the same receptionist. Oh god, you again, her eyes said.
“Yes, how can I help you?” I don’t want to be doing this. You don’t either.
“Is there no way I can just...take it quickly? It’s automated, isn’t it?” I said, as if my superior knowledge of road signs would sway her.
“I’m really sorry. It isn’t up to me...” Of course, I thought, foiled. It’s the DMV. Everyone has a superior knowledge of road signs.
“I feel really bad. My friend drove me all the way here – I can’t drive (obviously) – it was a long trip...” As far as standardised-testing haggling goes, this was a feeble Hail Mary. She’d heard it all before, yet she knew I wasn’t going to leave. Her eyelids drooped. Then, she looked around, scanning the grey reception.
“Look, do you really want this done today? You can’t wait?”
“Er, yes,” I said, surprised. “Yes please.”
“Are you sure?” Her eyebrows furrowed and she leaned slightly inwards, revealing a tattoo of nothing in particular winding around the base of her neck. Her sudden seriousness caught me off guard. I nodded weakly.
“I can’t help you here,” she said, rolling up her right sleeve as she began to turn around, “but there is somewhere that can.” She opened a metallic drawer at the bottom of the shelf behind her and pulled out a sheet of paper, cardstock, slightly yellowed, and textured in the way that only good paper is. Instantly, it seemed less redundant than the fibres now sweating in my pocket. I stayed quiet. This part of the interaction wasn’t pencilled anywhere in the back of my mind; there was no blueprint. She slid the sheet over the counter. It hissed until it met my fingers.
“Go here,” she whispered. I thanked her again, though this time more vacantly, and perused the card on my way out. The words, if they can be called that, Dee M Vee were written in blood-red cursive as a letterhead. In the centre of the sheet there was an address, typewritten. Underneath it was a perfect circle, also deep-red, with three precise dots making out the corners of an equilateral triangle within. The mathematician in me was impressed. Then again, he was easily so. I winced, incredulous, and jerked my head around. Is she messing with me? But it was too late; I was already outside, she was gone, and I didn’t want to go back in. I stood in the cold for a moment. Might as well.
“Change of plans,” I told my friend, “we’re going here.” I stuck my index finger on the address more aggressively than I had intended.
He took a look at the sheet in my hand and shrugged, defeated. “Sure.”
***
It wasn’t far away, but it seemed like a different city. The streets were darker and grungier; the buildings were squat, collapsing under the weight of the air above. Waze struggled to get us there. I imagined the little speech-bubble’s smug grin turning into a despondent frown. It had probably never felt so powerless. We finally reached the address, though we had no way of knowing for certain. There stood a small, tattered building. It was entirely tan and no larger than a modestly-sized convenience store. Its tired bricks were faded and chipped.
“What the hell,” my friend said as we pulled up to it. “Are you really going in there? Let’s just go home, this doesn’t seem right.”
“We came all this way,” I said reluctantly. “Come on. If nothing else at least we’ll have a story to tell.” I often used this justification for questionable decisions.
He looked uneasy. “Fine, but I’m staying in the car.”
“Yeah, don’t worry,” I said placatingly. I’ll just check it out.” I opened the door. “I’ll be back soon.”
From afar, the building looked unmarked, but sure enough the door bore a sign in miniscule size-12 font, if that applies to doors: Dee M Vee. Red. The letters were stamped into the flaking wood beautifully, as if impervious to the age that had been so unkind to the rest of the shack. I looked back at my friend sitting in the car. I could barely make out his face behind the tinted glass, especially since the sun had nearly set. Reassuringly, I gave a thumbs-up. I don’t think he acknowledged it. I turned a rusted doorknob and immediately the smell of mildew wafted out. I took a step back in disgust. Before me lay a replica of the Concord DMV. Though, the details were different. Instead of “Department of Motor Vehicles” painted neatly on the wall, there was a neon sign made of the cheap tubing you would find on a motel off the highway, contorted to spell Dee M Vee. It burned yellow, singeing itself into my eyes so that even when I looked away phantom letters remained. Otherwise, the room was barely lit, in no small part due to the lack of windows, though windows wouldn’t help much now anyway. The waiting area consisted of an assortment of seats – futons, recliners, rocking chairs – anything and everything save for what you would expect to find. The reception desk was empty. There were metal bars bolted into the desk, rising to the ceiling, with only a small gap near the centre, I guessed to exchange documents. Then a man emerged from a back room.
He looked utterly normal, in his late-twenties, wearing a blue polo shirt with a name tag on it: Gregorii.
For the second time today, I had no idea what to say.
“I was told to come here,” I muttered, barely audible over a loud thrumming noise that hadn’t been there when I’d entered.
“Oh yeah,” Gregorii said shuffling a stack of paper. “You’re just in time.”
“I didn’t make an appointment.”
Gregorii frowned, tutting to himself. Then, he pulled a sheet out from his stack and flipped it over. It had my name on it as well as the time, 4:12. “This is you, isn’t it?”
I croaked. Gregorii’s lips turned up in what couldn’t really be called a smile. His eyes were tired.
“Don’t worry, everyone reacts like that. Don’t be scared of efficiency.”
I turned for the door but it wouldn’t budge.
“You can’t leave until you’ve taken your test.” I turned again to look at him. He was sorting through more paperwork.
“What do you mean I can’t leave? Let me the hell out of here,” I barked, panicking.
Gregorii sighed. “I mean you have to do this.” He looked me up and down. “Don’t you believe in yourself?”
“Look, I’m calling the cops. This is...it’s-”
“You won’t get service in here.”
I pulled out my phone. Zero bars.
“Let me save you some time. Go to the testing room down the hall, take your exam, and the door will unlock. It’s the system,” he said as if that explained anything.
“Then you’ll let me go?” My heart was racing.
“Don’t say it like that. We’re giving you what you came for.”
I approached him reticently. “What’s that sound?” I asked, feeling a pulsating bass in my toes.
“It’s the testing room. Follow me,” he said, opening up a side-hatch in his desk.
I followed him down a hall that couldn’t have possibly fit into the building I had seen outside. We arrived at a black door.
“You’ll have as much time as you need. Just put your details into the computer and your test will start.”
Gregorii opened the testing room for me and went back to the main lobby. I walked in. The walls were painted black, making the room appear as if it were simultaneously infinite and nothing. Placed squarely in the centre was a desktop connected to a tubular device, 6-feet tall, which I now realised was the source of the thrumming. I took a seat in front of the computer, clicked the keyboard, and input my details. A window popped up: “Are you ready to begin?” I pressed yes. Suddenly, the thrumming got even louder until it was absolutely unbearable; I covered my ears. The device’s surface rippled gold, pink, and blue like luminescent lizard-skin. For a moment, I was completely blind and deaf.
The next thing I remember I was standing in the hallway drenched in sweat. I took out my phone to look at the time: 4:54. I noticed that my fingers were red, breaking out into hives. Gregorii appeared.
“You’re done. Congratulations, you passed!”
“Passed?” I gasped, feeling concussed. “I don’t even remember taking the test. What did you do to me in there?!” I was breathing heavily.
“Don’t worry – most people have a hard time remembering. The important thing is that you did it. Now, come with me and I’ll get your license sorted.”
I wanted to argue but I felt an exhaustion so deep that I couldn’t muster up the energy. Dragging my feet, I followed Gregorii back to the reception desk. He went to the back room and emerged a few minutes later with my license in hand. He passed it to me without another word. Everything was on there: my height, eye colour, everything. I was certain I hadn’t filled out a single form since I’d arrived. I tried not to question it. Gregorii eyed me. “I assume everything is in order?”
“Yeah. Yeah, everything is in order,” I said, eyeing him back. My curiosity got the better of me. “How did you end up here?”
“Same as you.”
“I mean, how did you end up working here?”
“I don’t remember. Things get muddled up here. I couldn’t tell you who hired me,” he chuckled, showing a rare hint of emotion.
“So you aren’t in charge of this place?”
“No, I’m not.” He didn’t volunteer any other information.
“Who is?”
Gregorii sighed. “You really don’t need to know that. Look, you got what you came for, man.”
“I want to talk to them,” I blurted out, harsher than intended. “Sorry,” I said clearing my throat, “please let me talk to them.”
Gregorii said nothing and continued filing his documents. Then he began to nod to himself. “Ok, whatever. Come with me. We’re going to the basement.”
The details are blurry. He led me down another hallway, which connected to an elevator, which descended for minutes and led to a merry-go-round, which was followed by a secure vault that Gregorii bypassed. None of it seemed real. Yet, I found myself standing in a small chamber adorned with chandeliers, golden ornaments, and other regalia. The ceiling was low, which made it such that the chandeliers hung just above eye-level. I took a seat in a plush velvet chair. Gregorii was gone. Then, a door opposite me opened. A man wearing a navy topcoat stepped out. He was taller than me, sported a thick moustache, and walked with a heft that belied his slim stature. Behind him followed a shorter man wearing a black coat. He was bald and seemed to have a permanent frown etched into his brow. The man in the topcoat slithered around the room before he took a seat opposite me; his companion stood behind him, his thick arms folded over a protruding chest.
“So, I hear you wanted to see me?” he said in a low, delicate tone. The words came out slowly. He inspected his fingernails, which he deemed more interesting than me. “Well, I should probably introduce myself – by the way, you’re lucky you caught me on a light day. I’m Commissioner,” he said finally looking me in the eyes, though his head was still tilted downwards. “Before you ask, it’s just Commissioner. This is my friend, Nightmare. Of course, that’s just a nickname. Between you and me,” he said leaning forward, “he gave it to himself. I’ll be frank: I have meetings like this every week. Someone can’t take a good thing without asking questions and, so, I carve time out of my busy schedule to satiate their curiosity. That’s fine. I get it. But I’ll be brief; there’s nothing to hide. Put simply, we’re the gods of the Department of Motor Vehicles.” Commissioner kept rubbing his fingernails in silence. I paused. Then I realised. “Wait, how do you know I sai-”
“Oh but you didn’t say it,” he spat, suddenly lurching forward. “You might have thought it. But you were going to say it at some point, maybe tomorrow, maybe next year. But it’s encoded into you with a 99.9% probability of fruition. That sequence of words coming out of your mouth is practically inevitable, part of what makes you, you. Unfortunately, though, you really aren’t very original.”
My heart sank and I started to breathe heavily. “You don’t know anything about me,” I said, scoffing, though out of terror rather than nonchalance.
“Yes we do,” Commissioner said bluntly, his head twitching as he met Nightmare’s gaze for verification. Nightmare nodded once, up-down, like a lazy bobblehead. “You just told us. Up there,” he said, pointing to the ceiling. “Think about what we asked you,” he drawled, a grin sawing itself into his stubbled jaw. “But you probably don’t remember.” Vague memories floated back to me: dates, names, places, secrets.
“We give you what you want and more, and in return we know everything about you. You’re no longer a liability. Take our friends over at the Tee S Aye for example: Prior Pre-Check; in return, they know you. And you get to avoid the hassle. This bureaucracy isn’t mistake. No. It’s a system that feeds you,” he pointed at me with an open hand, “to us. Think of it as an incentive.” He wiped his lips and adjusted a tie I hadn’t noticed so that it was no longer slack. Running his fingers through his hair, he leaned back into his seat. His face loosened. Nightmare hadn’t blinked yet, I was sure of it.
“I know it’s a lot to take in, and you’re probably wondering what to say now, what to do. I’ve given that speech at least twice this month already and, word of advice, it always ends the same way: you leave silently. There’s nothing to say, nothing to do. Everything that was to be said and done has been. And us,” Commissioner said raising his eyebrows and pointing to himself and then Nightmare, “we don’t even exist, strictly speaking.”
I knew he was right. There was no use saying anything, no use doing anything. It was almost reassuring to know that I was entirely powerless, a chandelier grazing my head in a basement under a building that didn’t exist.
“Don’t bother trying to change what’s happened,” Commissioner said, standing up. “Just enjoy what you’ve gained. Now, I’m sorry but I’ll be taking my leave.”
I remained seated as he and Nightmare walked towards the exit. As Nightmare placed his paw on a visibly heavy door, I said, desperate for the last word, “I wish I’d never come here.”
Commissioner turned around and looked almost sympathetic. “Thousands of Commissioners in hundreds of organisations...it was inevitable.” They left. A minute later, Gregorii appeared and escorted me upstairs. We parted without much more than a nod.
License in hand, I trudged back to my friend’s car. “No road test?” he asked, confused. I didn’t respond, handing over my license limply. He scanned it over, first the front, then the back, tracing the words and symbols with his thumbs. Then he did it again, more deliberately. “Would you look at that. That watermark...” he started, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a brown leather cardholder displaying his license, “it’s just like mine.” The latter half of his sentence was sinister, spoken in a lower-register. He now wore a mad, Cheshire grin and locked his eyes with mine, unblinking. My stomach dropped to my toes. I craned my head towards the windshield, feeling the shudder of each slight twist of my neck. Reaching over my shoulder, I put my seatbelt on and stared forward, not daring to even face him. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he sheathed his license. “I’ll get us home soon.” He sounded cocky, assured, knowing. “Remember,” he said, drumming the pocket holding his license, “I never get pulled over.”
And then he drove us back.