Have you ever dealt with a major corporation or government agency and asked a question of their cronies and been met with a vacant stare or dead silence? Do you think, I couldn’t possibly be the first person to ask for this? But, the cold dead stare and bewildered look tell you the hamster just fell off the wheel, and whatever lights he was powering have officially gone dark. You just stumped this minion, and intuitively you know, it’s time to start preparing yourself for whatever vapid questions are going to follow.
My wife was nice enough to register the car for me since I was working every day and she was off work at that time. She had to endure an extended version of the preceding exchange when she tried to register the car with the California DMV. She was intelligent, diligent, and planned ahead. She made sure to go to a nice DMV office, in a nice area, with the shortest expected wait time. It should have been a relatively easy, single visit task. After all, she couldn’t possibly be the first person in California to buy a car from out of state.
One would assume that out of a state with 40 million people, at least one person would have purchased a car from out of state, maybe even a Tesla. Apparently, that wasn’t the case. In 2019 we were the first people in history to buy a Tesla from Arizona and try to register it in California. Shockingly enough, the car dealer in Arizona had filled out all the appropriate paperwork, and we had kept all of it tidy and neat. Before her first visit to the DMV, she ensured she had all the paperwork lined up and ready to go. She set off to the carefully selected DMV office and expected a quick and easy transaction. As with many things at the DMV, it didn’t go quite as expected.
Strike 1
My wife drives a subcompact that’s barely a smidge longer than the oversized golf cart that was my Fiat 500e. So, maneuvering the 16+ foot long, 5,000lb Model S is not one of her favorite tasks. But she soldiered on and piloted that behemoth 20 miles down to the DMV on the first of several trips. She took a number and waited in a slightly less terrible than normal DMV line. Once called up, she walked up to the counter, organized paperwork in hand, and explained her request to the lackey on the other side of the counter. It was a relatively simple request. We bought this car in Arizona, we have all the paperwork. Here it is. I’d like to pay my fees, register it, and be on my way, please.
The slovenly gentleman on the other side of the counter stopped shoveling crackers in his gullet. He said we need a copy of the title to change it from an Arizona title to a California title. My wife listened diligently and started rummaging through the paperwork. After the second pass through the paperwork, she got concerned because she didn’t find the title. As she stopped and thought about it, the request didn’t really make sense. We financed the car. We don’t have the title- nor should we. She stopped rummaging and shared her revelation with the cracker cruncher. He responded and said, if you don’t have it, we’ll need a copy of the title sent from the bank to us. It’s really easy, just call the bank, and they’ll send the title to us. My wife asked, how will I know they sent it to you, he said, we’ll call you when we receive it. She told him she’d take care of it and have the bank send a copy of the title over. He said, good, do you have the car here with you so we can inspect it? She said, yes, it’s here. He gave her instructions on the inspection process, they parted ways, and she went to pull the car into the inspection area.
The inspector was a nice older guy, friendly and polite. Possibly, not the sharpest tool in the shed, though. He went through the items on the inspection checklist: VIN, headlights, taillights, turn signals, etc. He got towards the bottom of the list and asked my wife to pop the hood so he could do a visual check of the engine for modifications. My wife hesitantly looked at him, popped the frunk, and politely and reservedly said, sure, but the engine isn’t in the front. The DMV crony was a little frustrated and bewildered when my wife corrected him. He walked over to the frunk in a huff. He was going to see this engineless marvel for himself. Obviously, he was eager at the thought of correcting my wife. He was going to show her where the engine in a car is located. Much to his chagrin, all he got to see was an empty felt-lined compartment without spark plug wires, an intake filter, or other vital parts of a modern engine. My wife politely explained that Tesla’s have electric motors located between the wheels and aren’t visible from outside the car. He looked at her with disdain, slowly checked the engine box off his list, and then wrapped up the inspection process.
My wife called me on the way home and gave me the full download of the long and frustrating process. I immediately called the bank and let them know what the DMV requested. Unfortunately for us, the loan data hadn’t fully propagated in their system, so they couldn’t even look up my loan info. It would take another 3 to 5 days before they could even look up my loan data and fax a copy of the title to the DMV. I called the bank again after 5 days and explained everything to the new customer support person. She was bewildered at the request. She never heard of the DMV needing to change a title or get a copy of a title. It was a first for her, apparently. Nevertheless, she politely obliged our offbeat request and sent a copy of the title over to the DMV.
My wife’s new friend at the DMV told her they would call when they received a copy of the title. So, we patiently waited for a little over a week to hear back from the delightful folks at the DMV. Finally, enough time passed that my wife called the bank to make sure they sent a copy of the title to the DMV, and they confirmed they had. My wife took the bank at their word and assumed it was time to wrap this all up. So, she hopped in my new lead sled and headed down to the DMV office again.
Strike 2
She arrived at the DMV to find another mind-numbing line, which she patiently waited in, excited at the idea of finalizing this transaction. Once she got to the counter, she very briefly explained the scenario. She promptly asked to speak to a manager to forestall more exchanges and confusion. The pawn behind the counter looked confused and started looking around hurriedly for the manager. The counterperson walked over to the manager and explained the situation. He turned around and sauntered over to my wife. He was carrying a half-eaten apple that was dripping juice and debris on the floor. My wife immediately realized it was the same guy that helped her before. Perfect! He already knew the story and probably had the title copy sitting on his desk.
He greeted my wife then continued gnawing on his apple as she told him the bank sent a copy of the title to this DMV office. He wiped some apple chunks from his face and, in an uber condescending tone, said, no, not a copy. We need the original title. My wife graciously explained that he repeatedly said a copy of the title last time they met, and that’s what she wrote in her notes. Side note, I talked to my wife after the first trip, and she was 99.9% sure he said a copy of the title because he specifically repeated it. Anyway, he continued indignantly, no, I would never say that because you need the original title. Finally, she acquiesced and told him, I’ll talk to the bank and get them to send the original title to you. Then, for the second time, she asked this battle-hardened bureaucrat how she would know when he received the title? He continued with his belligerence and told her he’d call when the title came in. My wife paused and reflected for a half-second. His indignant tone and mannerisms made my wife’s spidey sense tingle. Right then, she knew – that he knew – that he had messed up and said the wrong thing when he initially said a “copy” of the title.
I felt terrible for my wife, so I thought I’d intervene and spare us all some more back and forth trips to the DMV. We are AAA members, and they handle title transfers, registrations, etc. I thought I’d be able to circumvent the DMV by going to the AAA office 5 minutes away. I called AAA before showing up to ensure they could handle the transfer. I explained the details, and they said, come on down, we can take care of that. So, I headed off to AAA early the next day, fully expecting the ordeal to be over. However, after waiting 45 minutes at their office, they decided they couldn’t help me either. The lovely lady on the other side of the counter reviewed all the paperwork, invited a coworker over, had a 5-minute discussion with her, then and said, we can’t handle this transfer. You’ll have to talk to the DMV. Oh well, at least I tried.
After my failed attempt to resolve things at the AAA, my wife had to call the bank again. She called and gave the 411 again, got transferred a couple times, was again met with bewilderment, and ultimately spoke to a manager who could help. The manager said they would have to conference call with the DMV to get all the pertinent information and ensure they follow the correct procedures. My wife was astonished that she’d have to conference call with a bank and DMV to resolve this. She waited patiently as the bank got through to someone at the DMV and endured a 10-minute call as the referee, as the two other folks on the line coordinated movement of the title. Finally, at the end of the call, the bank and DMV confirmed they had everything they needed to complete the transaction, so my wife asked the ever-present question…How will I know when the local DMV office gets the title? The DMV rep responded and said, we’ll call you as soon as we receive it.
Ball 1
We waited another week or so to hear back from the compulsive snacker at the local DMV, but not a peep. So, we called the bank and asked them if they sent the title, they confirmed they sent it. But the bank couldn’t tell if the DMV received it. So, my wife looked up the local DMV office phone number to give them a call and discovered something revelatory. You can’t call a local DMV office, only the state DMV! When she called the state DMV, she was put on hold repeatedly, transferred several times, and was even transferred to a dial tone a couple times. Finally, she found a bureaucrat on the other side of the phone who took pity on her and was willing and able to help. The person at the DMV put my wife on hold and called the local office. The DMV rep returned to the line and told my wife the local office had received the title, and it was there waiting for her!
Home Run!
She immediately went down to the local DMV office to finally register the car. For the Nth time, she endured another DMV line. Once called up to the counter, she again explained her sorted tale of woe to a new DMV door stop. Before the rep responded, my wife politely asserted- you have the title. It’s here, Sacramento confirmed it. I need to register the car and finish this, please. The DMV rep looked through filing cabinets, cubbies, inboxes, outboxes, big boxes, and small boxes for several tense minutes. They couldn’t find the title anywhere. Finally, she walked back to my wife and said, I’m sorry, we can’t help you. I’ve looked everywhere and can’t find the title. My wife reminded the rep that she called the state DMV and they confirmed the title was here at this office. Again, she requested to speak to a manager. The drone wandered over to the other side of the room through a door and disappeared. Five minutes later, a husky silhouette emerged from the distant door.
Walking towards my wife was the crunching crusader she’d spoken to several times before. He didn’t disappoint. This time he was elbow deep in a bag of flaming hot Cheetos as he slowly approached the counter my wife was waiting at. He wiped some cheesy dust from his hands and onto his pants as he got closer. He greeted my wife and said, let me take a look. He proceeded to peruse the exact spots the prior flunky had looked but also checked a few other management-level hiding spots. Finally, he returned to the counter and said, we don’t have it. The bank never sent it. You’ll have to check with them to ensure they sent it to the right place.
With a superhuman level of patience and grace, my wife explained she was on a conference call with the bank and the Sacramento DMV when the title was sent. Also, she reminded him of the call to the Sacramento DMV, who called this very office, to confirm you received it. Would you please look again, she pleaded? Mr. Cheetos rolled his eyes and said, let me check one other place. He walked five feet away, opened the second drawer of a filing cabinet, moved a hanging file folder, and pulled out a UPS overnight envelope. He glanced inside the envelope, turned around to my wife, held the envelope high in the air, and with blissful ignorance announced, I found it! The underling returned, entered some data in the computer, my wife paid the taxes and registration, got the license plates, and was done less than 5 minutes later. After so much pain, misery, and bureaucratic buffoonery, it only took 5 minutes to wrap up the process my wife started almost a month earlier.
My wife immediately called me as she walked to the car, ecstatic, reveling in her accomplishment. I picked up the phone, and she was almost in tears of joy. She proceeded to share the details of the most recent encounter through her trembling voice. She told me she was clutching the license plates so hard she was afraid I may have to work some dents out of them when I got home. She went 12 rounds with the DMV and emerged victoriously. That night we went out to dinner to celebrate the conclusion of this haunting ordeal.
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