With an unintentional flourish, I whoosh the door open. Rows of faces greet me. Behold, an impatient and dissatisfied audience; welcome to the DMV.

Here humanity gathers with a bouquet of needs. Here patience is involuntarily taught and learned. Here time is a snail's paced experience. Here the true melting-pot of America plants itself for a solid two to three-hour processing.

Contrary to the fast environment of the rest of our lives, the DMV is akin to how I feel post-syllabus week- consistently lagging behind.

We live in the age wherein better is defined as quicker. No one is accustomed to waiting. Companies thrive by placing their merchandise within our grasp with only a click. In some cases, shipping options read, “Deliver today!” Granted, you usually have to pay an extra fee for that level of efficiency, but generally, our modern distribution rate is exponentially more convenient than in the olden days. Back then sending for lumber, cotton or even oranges could mean months of waiting.

Waiting, that word brings us back to the DMV. Sizing up the crowd, I realize that I am completely unprepared to sit there for hours. No phone charger, headphones, laptop or book.

This wasn’t an international flight with a variety of A-list movies, rather my entertainment options were as follows. I could read the captions for the episode of ‘The Wire’ that the middle-aged man on my right was streaming. Or, attempt to translate the Facebook feed of the man on my left, but every word was in a foreign language and he scrolled too quickly.

Maybe I could even join in the Sudoku game that the elderly woman in front of me was playing; then again, I didn’t feel like playing with numbers. The only numbers that mattered to me were the ones that flashed across the split television screen and were read out loud by, who I can only assume, was Siri’s stepsister.

“A001, at window 12,” her nasally voice recited.

“N076, at window 4,” she robotically taunted me. My number was N136.

Mesmerized by the insolvable and therefore, maddening pattern of alphanumeric ordering, I stared at that screen. On the other half was a continuous stream of local ads with random news blips about Hollywood, sports and politics.

Angelina Jolie has contracted bells palsy after her divorce with Brad Pitt.

Due to an elbow injury, Novak Djokovic will not participate in the rest of the 2017 tennis season.

North Korea is still practicing with their nuclear weapons and Trump could be contemplating war.

How relaxing. I miss the mindless infomercials that made you feel like there were answers for everything. Can’t cut your vegetables by your own elbow grease? No worries, simply press them through this plastic shredder and your meal is ready.

About two hours spent in this purgatory, I almost volunteered to help the woman who was trying to coddle her angry baby who was missing nap time. Then I heard, “N134, at window 8 please.” Two more people and then Siri’s stepsister, who I named Stephanie, would say, “N136, at window-“ but twenty more minutes passed and Stephanie did not speak such blessed words. At this point I am contemplating throwing myself on the disease-ridden floor and pounding my fist into the checkered tile.

When all hope seemed lost, I heard, “N136, at window 17.” I stood up for the first time in three hours and felt everyone’s eye on me. It almost seemed appropriate to blow kisses and wave like a princess as I walked down that center aisle, around the corner and to window 17.

A bleach-blonde woman who I’d guess to be in her mid-sixties peered at me under her reading glasses. Her name tag said, “Flo,” and I smiled at her as if she had told me that I won the lottery.

“So what can I help you with today,” she asked, bored already by the unspectacular sight of me.

“Um, well first I’d like to say how happy I am to be here, finally in front of you. But I need to change the address on my license.“

Flo began cackling so hard that she then started coughing. “Oh, sweetie, you could’ve done that online.”

“Yes, Ms. Flo, I know that I could’ve done this online, but I wanted to get my picture retaken.”

Yes, friends, that’s right. I wasted away in the DMV for three hours because I wanted the picture on my license to look better than I did at sixteen.

Vanity, like time, is money. How high a price would you be willing to pay for your vanity?