We were up early, our oldest daughter and I. ... I wanted to be on the road by 7, as I had heard horror stories about the wait, and I was hoping that we could beat many people to the line who maybe expected that showing up at opening time was enough.
I hoped wrong.
Fifty minutes later when we pulled into the Department of Motor Vehicle parking lot, there was already a line of people outside the door more than a block long. ... I tried to hide my chagrin as I knew my teenage daughter who had gotten up at 6:45 to come all this way to take her written driver's permit test was already grumpy and didn't want to be here. If she knew what I thought in my head at that moment -- that we were in for an all-day adventure -- she would have insisted that we turn around and go home.
So, cheerily, I drove through the parking lot, which was full anyway, saying, "Well, we'll park across the street then! ... Cheerio!" ... Generally, my kids hate when I put on my "Let's Make The Best Of It" face. ... This was the case on this day as well.
And then it came. ... "Let's just go home," she said.
"Well, we're here. Let's go see where we're at," I answered, and stepped out of the car.
Out of the back seat, I retrieved a folding camp chair, a water bottle, my work bag and a book, and headed across the street to get in line. ... "Do you want a chair?" I asked Ava. "No, OK."
We trundled across the street, me looking forward to a few hours of reading time, while getting to spend time with my daughter. ... You see, we'd had forewarning from other parents who had taken their 15-year-olds to the DMV to take their permits too. "Be ready for an all-day wait," they'd said. And so I came prepared.
Because of Minnesota's COVID restrictions in July, the DMV offices across the state had closed to the public, and the divvied up certain duties to certain offices. This meant we couldn't just drive to the local DMV office in our town; we had to drive to one 45 miles away in a neighboring city, one where they were taking permit tests. ... Government, am I right?
So sure enough, those parents who had warned us about the wait had been correct. ... After 15 minutes we'd gone no where. The line hadn't moved. It had only grown longer behind us. ... And then it came again: "Let's just go home-e-e-e-e! ... We'll come back another day," our sleepy and too-cool-for-this teenager said.
"Nope," I said again. "We're in this deep. We're sticking it out."
Slowly, the line began to move. Now that the DMV office had actually opened, there were a few people getting to go inside and conduct business. So we shuffled along. About every 10 to 15 minutes or so, enough people moved forward, that we were able to creep forward. It was the same process: Way up front you'd see a few people waved into the building. Then the next few in line would shuffle forward, and that would create a chain reaction all the way done the line. Eventually, like watching a ripple travel down the length of a rope, the new gap would reach us. And we'd move forward.
"Devvy, we're moving," Ava would say.
And I would look up from either the work emails I was answering or from the book I was reading and see that the line was indeed moving. I would stuff my book in my work bag, grab my coffee out of the chair cup holder, stand up, drag the chair three to four feet, set my back down, put my coffee back in the cupholder, sit down and either begin reading or working again. ... Wet hair, wash with shampoo, rinse, repeat.
And this went on for two hours. ... And about every half hour I would again hear: "Devvy, let's JUST go home-e-e-e-e!"
"Nope," I would say again. "Look, we've already invested three hours. Let's wait it out."
Finally, about 9:30 a.m., a DMV worker came working her way up the line. She started some 20 or 30 people in front of us. And, even though, I couldn't see what she was doing, you could begin to see another process repeat itself. The lady would walk about to a parent-child set with her clip board, talk for a bit, look through their papers and either nod to them to keep in line ... or given them a cryptic shrug. ... And then after the cryptic shrug, some of those parent-children sets would frown and slowly wonder to their cars. ... And leave? ... Wait, what!
Some agonizing minutes later, the woman finally made it to Ava and I.
"Purpose of your visit?" she asked in a no-nonsense style.
"Ah, my daughter needs to take her permit test," I answered.
"You have your paperwork? ... Birth certificate, Social Security card and blue card (essentially the piece of paper declaring she'd taken her classroom hours)?" she asked.
"Yes ma'am," I said as sunnily as I could, as if kissing up to her was going to win the day.
"Good. ... OK, at this point in the day, we can no longer guarantee that you will get in today," she said. "You are welcome to stay in line if you want to wait it out and see. Or you can come back another day." ... And then she stood staring at me.
"Uh-h-h-h, what?" I stammered. "We drove 50 minutes to get here, and I took the day off."
"Understood," she said, matter of factly. "Those are your options." ... And she moved on to the next person in line behind us.
I could immediately see the frustration grow in my daughter's eyes. ... But before she could utter the words, I said, "Quick, there's more people leaving the line. Let's move up before we lose our place!" ... To which she answered me with a groan and an eye roll.
To be honest, I wavered at that point myself. I mean it was only late morning, and we weren't guaranteed at all that she would get in to take her test by the time the DMV closed at 3:30. ... There was a part of me that thought we might leave to come back another day when we would leave home at 6 a.m. to get in line. ... But then I thought, no, you've already taken the day off for this. You're committed. Might as well stick it out. ... And I shared none of this with Ava, of course!
And so we trundled up the line all morning long. But, to be honest, after our encounter with the DMV lady, the line started to move much quicker. Many of the folks tapped out, and with each one throwing in the towel, we moved up in line. And by 11ish we were knocking on the doorstep!
Naively, as we crept closer and closer to our turn to go in, I thought, "Well, that wasn't as bad as everyone made it out to be." It's not even lunch time, and we're almost in. ... And then we were! ... We saw a teenager exit the building and the next lady who was working a booth inside waved us in! ... Boom! Success! Our persistence paid off!
We grabbed our stuff, scurried into the building and all but ran up to the kiosk where the next woman was working.
"OK, which one of you is the fastest texter? ... Dad, I'm assuming it's not you. ... Ok, Dad, you sign in and fill this out. Sweetie, take this number and text this number to it," she said.
And we did as we were commanded. ... After signing, I asked: "So, I imagine I can't go in with her into the building, right? ... Do I just wait in the car?"
"No, just wait. ... Here, let me get this wristband on you, hon," as she peeled and then fastened a paper wristband around Ava's wrist. Then she looked at the both of us. "Now, that text will give you a ticket number. And when we get to your number, you'll receive a text telling you to come into the building. .. Alright, hon?" she said to Ava.
"Ahh-h-h-h-h, what? ... You mean we were waiting in line to get a number to get into the next line? ... An online line?" I asked, stunned."
"Yes, sir," she said as cheerily as could be.
"And about how long will that take?" I asked.
"Oh, probably a few hours," she said with another generous smile. "But we'll try our best to get you in still today!"... And with that she kind of gave me a polite head nod toward the exit doors as she waited to serve the next people in line.
Well, you can about imagine our mood as we shuffled out of the office. We'd set out nearly five hours ago for this permit test, and we were now no closer than we had been three hours earlier when we got in line. ... Ava's mood was souring. My mood was souring. ... And I knew I had to rescue this quickly.
"Right then, let's go get coffee, OK? ... We'll go get coffee. I can finish a few work emails, and then I'll buy you lunch. How does that sound?" I asked. ... Eyes staring back at me. "OK, I'll take that as a yes."
And I drove off in search of the nearest coffee place. ... We found a Caribou Coffee downtown and pulled up a chair at their outside seating. I knew neither one of us were really that hungry at that point, and so we sat on their patio and chatted and let the sun beat down on us.
As we talked, Ava's mood lightened, and she started to begin to get into the day a bit more. ... After all, she had her step father all to herself, she just got a frufru coffee drink that she liked and it really was quite a lovely summer day. The sky was deep blue, with only a smattering of white, fluffy clouds. And it was going to be hot!
Well, we finished our coffee, and it still wasn't quite lunch time. So I suggested we bum around the downtown a bit. Detroit Lakes is a touristy town, situated in the middle of north-central Minnesota Lakes Country, and so their downtown is full of little boutiques that a teenage girl should love, I ventured. ... So we set off on a walking tour of the downtown. We hit clothing stores, book stores, trinket shops and even a pet store, where we met one of the most gigantic dogs I've ever seen! ... And by this time, Ava was really getting into the day, and we were having a blast, window shopping, talking, telling jokes, etc.
After walking through all of the places downtown we interested in, we finally decided it was time for lunch. And I suggested we head over to a lakeside pub that Shelley and I had previously enjoyed for lunch. We had a terrific lunch, enjoying loaded tater tots and burgers overlooking a topaz blue lake.
At this point, we still had time to kill, as we had not heard back from the DMV, and so I said, "Let's go hit up those clothing shops along the boardwalk." And she was up for it. So we shopped for shirts for her and her sister.
After shopping, we still had time, and so we crossed the street, and walked a mile or so down the beach, turned around and strolled aimlessly back, all the while enjoying the warm day and watching people and chatting.
By the time we returned to our car, I said, "It's about 2, and I can't think of anything else to do in town. How about we head back and get into the parking lot so we're ready when we get the text?" ... Ava agreed. She was tired too. After all, we'd now been at this for seven hours.
We returned to the parking lot, and sat in the car, air conditioning on, as it was nearing 95 degrees out. It was now 2:15, and we wearily settled in, waiting and hoping for the best. Despite the awesome day we'd turned our lemons into, both of us secretly wondered if we were going to get called at all that day and if we might have to repeat all of this again.
When the car's clock hit 3 p.m., Ava had finally given in. In an exasperated voice, she asked,"Devvy, what if they don't text?
"They will!" I mustered with all the enthusiasm I had left in me, which wasn't much. "They will." ... And then I prayed. Silently by fervently, I prayed, asking God to get us into that building. It was a selfish prayer, I know, but I was concerned about my daughter's confidence at that point. She had prepared for this day. She was ready to take the test this day. And I didn't know if she'd be in the same mental place the next time around if we had to come back. "God, please get us into that building!"
And then each minute that ticked by seemed like an hour. ... 3:05 ... 3:06 ... 3:07. ... It was agonizing. ... At 3:17, Ava had had enough. She was well aware that the office closed at 3:30 sharp as the website stated.
"Let's just go. It's 3:17 and we haven't heard anything back. ... See," she said as he tapped her text app for the millionth time that day. "Wait, what? ... It says you're invited. What does that mean?"
"That means get going!" I shouted gleefully! "I'll lock and follow you in. Just get in there!"
Ava leapt from the car and ran inside. I finished closing up the car, grabbed my mask and joined her as quick as I could.
Once we made it inside, I was again met with the same lady from earlier in the day. "Well, good, you all made it! ... You are the absolute last person we are taking in for testing today, young lady. Good luck! ... Right through those doors. ... Dad, now you can wait outside in the car," she said with a twinkle in her eye.
I shuffled out again, weary from the day, but also nervous for Ava who had studied so hard for this test. I sat anxiously waiting, wanting to be as calm as possible to handle whatever mood she was in when she came back.
And then 10 minutes later, Ava came out the double doors with no sign discernible on her face. ... She got in the car, turned to me, and shouted, "I passed!" ... And at that moment the biggest grin broke across her face, a priceless look I'll remember the rest of my life.
"Well, what now?" I asked, as she had come out of the building with nothing. No paperwork, no direction, nothing.
"I don't know," she said. "The lady just said that they were past closing, and they didn't have time to get my paperwork. She said I could get it at home."
"Ok," I said, "I'll call the DMV at home tomorrow and figure it out. Let's send mom a photo and head home. I'm so proud of you, kiddo!"
I got situated, started to back out of the parking lot and that's when Ava said, "Devvy, thanks for an awesome day today! ... AND for making me stay!"
And my heart melted.
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