My daughter has to go to the Registry of Motor Vehicles. I know, right? Some of you just actively shudddered simply by reading that sentence. She has to renew her registration and pay some tolls she didn't know she had because she had moved to a new address.
Normally we would go to the registry closest to where we live, but it's in the charming city of Lawrence, and the line is usually about a mile and a half long. Instead, we head over to another town, but when we arrive, the line is still pretty long, stretching out the front door and to the rear of the building like a disjointed snake that gets more and more pissed off as its scales extend.
Amazing. It's like a fucking registry miracle!
We leave the registry, pop on the highway, and run about a dozen errands. When we are done with our errands, it's still not too late, only about 10:40 in the morning. We decide we need something to eat, but we don't really want breakfast, so we search the Internet to find out when the nearest 99 Restaurant opens. When we arrive, we have to sit in the parking lot for ten minutes until they unlock the door, but once we are inside, we do exactly what we've wanted to do since we first saw the ridiculous line at the registry: order ice cold beers.
If we had gone to the city registry in Lawrence, we'd probably still be sitting there. Instead, we are sitting in a lovely air conditioned environment enjoying icy beverages after shopping, which is all post-registry business. Honestly, it doesn't get any better than this, and I almost hope she has to go to the registry again tomorrow. After all, most normal people need a beer after dealing with the registry, so our pre-noon drinking is completely legit.
