The Grand Finale - Adventures with the DMV

The Grand Finale - Adventures with the DMV
By Rich Bruso
May 2007

As you no doubt remember, Doug and I stopped over in Bakersfield, CA, on our way back from obtaining a parts car. The adventure was fraught with action, adventure, excitement, peril, perilous adventure, exciting, perilous, action-oriented adventure and, of course, artery-clogging road food. And now for the conclusion to our story.

Remember the gymnastics we had to go through just to get the car strapped onto the trailer?

How many jacks can you find in this picture?

I-10 traffic, though crazy at times, seemed to be flowing smoothly. The day passed uneventfully, interspersed with the occasional gas stop. Strangely, we even made it past Marana without incident. And finally: home! We quickly slapped some tires on the front of the car, backed it off the trailer, and called it a night. The very next day I was even able to successfully get an Arizona title for the car without any hassle. It wasn't until later, while watching a documentary about the construction of the first suspension bridge made entirely out of candy that I began to suspect I was still asleep.

As often happens in these situations, I awoke to find myself in a cheap motel. It was the first of the year, I was still in Bakersfield, and there was still a car with no front wheels on the trailer outside. Doug awoke and wondered, as is his wont, how long he would get into the New Year before being declared a racist. This year it was approximately nine hours, and came from an overly-aggressive panhandler.

With that out of the way, it was time to hit the road. I'll say this for the average California driver: they're absofreakinglutly insane. Okay, perhaps that's a harsh over-generalization, but how else can you explain some of the "quirks" observed in practically every car? Let's just focus on the most annoying: merging.

Now, merging should be a simple maneuver. Zipper-like, the incoming and existing traffic come together with minimal fuss. Conscientiously and courteously, the traffic already on the highway either shifts lanes or, if this is not possible, speeds up or slows down to make a hole. The merging traffic, meanwhile, comes up to highway speed then fills the available holes.

It may be that somewhere, perhaps in rural Indiana, this actually happens, but in California the standard procedure for the merging car is to approach highway speed, cut in front of a car on the highway, slow down to about 15 MPH below the posted speed limit, then come back up to highway speed. When the victim's car weighs about 3000 pounds, this isn't an issue. For a slightly less nimble vehicle, such as a 3800 pound truck pulling a 3500 pound trailer, things are a bit hairier. And this wasn't an isolated case. Every single car at every single onramp did this! Is the procedure spelled out in the drivers' handbook or something?

And then there are the skid marks running off the road. Nothing inspires confidence quite like two black strips running right off of a 20 foot embankment, except possibly if they go right up the side of a bridge abutment. And they were everywhere, though in all fairness they were probably the result of improper merging. Of course, it's best not to focus on these things, lest you too become a set of black strips to nowhere.

Strangely, once we hit Arizona things did go quite well. Aside from Phoenix, traffic was relatively light, and we arrived home without anything bad happening. We were a bit behind schedule, though, so I parked the truck and trailer in front of my in-laws house overnight, leaving the unloading for the next day.

And what an unloading it was. Remember the gymnastics we had to go through just to get the car strapped onto the trailer? The jacks, the pry bars, the general dread that something was going to go "sproing" in a very, very bad way? And, if you remember, it was all because of the little wheel chock attached to the trailer to keep the car from rolling around, the little chock over which we accidentally hopped. Well, after a heroic hour or so of effort with a trio of mismatched jacks, I noticed something: that little wheel chock unbolts from the trailer. Just two simple bolts, and none of this would have happened! I managed to keep from breaking down in tears, but only just. A bit more time and effort, and the car was sitting safely in my carport.

Ahh, the joys of car ownership. Well, not quite ownership, yet. Now to fill out the paperwork. Lessee, here's a bill of sale and registration slip from Nevada. And here's an application for transfer of title from California. Uh-oh. So, a few quick calls and an email or two later, I determine the seller of the car isn't answering. At all. Grr. Okay, let's just push forward.

Let's see what forms I'll need from Nevada. According to their web site, for a car that old all you need is the bill of sale, recent registration, and the transfer of title form, so everything actually was almost in order. All I needed was a Nevada transfer of title form, so, like an idiot, I called. "Well sir, since you're out of state, the form will need to be notarized." Huh? A few more attempts at communication with the seller, and still no replies. So, back to the DMV.

Fine, how do I get a title transferred to me if the seller isn't cooperating? I start down that path, only to find a shocking fact. It seems that the car, though registered in Nevada, is actually titled in California. Those of you out there that have dealt with the California DMV are probably groaning already. "Simple, easy, and efficient", that's the DMV motto. Well, part of it anyway, as it is prefaced with the phrase "Nothing is ".

So, along with a sob-story letter about the guy not calling me back, I submit all of my documents, along with the necessary fees. About a month later, I receive a reply. Just fill out this simple form and submit a check for the late fees. And the simple form requires…the seller's signature on the odometer statement! It's a 16-year-old car, currently not running, and it's destined for disassembly and scrapping, but California wants a signed odometer statement from the guy who won't return my calls.

After several more attempts to contact the guy, I have success calling a number with the prefix 999, which sounds so ludicrously fake I had never tried it. It seems he had moved at least once, but if I mailed the form he'd be glad to sign it. Success! A month later, and I get the signed form back, which I immediately mail to the DMV along with a check for the late fees. Just sit back, relax, and wait for the title to come in.

After another month, the package arrives. Giddy with glee, I sit down and open the letter. And there it is, after all this time, the…smog certification form? AND a bill for yet more late fees, as well as back fees for the previous owner's registration? Yes, if I want the title to the car I get to pay for the previous owner's late registration fees and the attendant late fees. California registration fees, not Nevada, and even the late fees have late fees.

A very, very nice woman at the Sacramento DMV offices explained this to me patiently. I do have to say that their customer service is very nice. That is, they're very nice when they explain the gigantic pain in the butt, and they're very thorough and make sure you understand everything they're saying. None of the cut-rate, get you off the line as quickly as possible stuff you get from other DMVs, but real, honest-to-goodness customer service. None of this helped with the fact that if I wanted the title, I had to cough up the money.

Fortunately, even with the hotel rooms, gas, and various Sisyphean chain-reaction late fees factored in, the car is still worth more in parts than what I paid. And if all goes well, in about a month I should be receiving, via genuine First Class mail, a package from the California DMV explaining that once I filled out the organ donor cards (enclosed) and paid the next round of late fees, I'd almost certainly be entered in the lottery for a chance to win a genuine Certificate of Title for a 1991 Ford Taurus SHO. No additional purchase necessary.

Copyright © 2007 Rich Bruso.

Back to Borderline Local Writers Pages

Back to Borderline Mensa