The Human Spectacle

After a long hiatus I will again break from my edict of separating life from blog and write about a personal experience that was simply too profound not to write about. I have been to the depths of what can only be described as the seventh circle of bureaucratic hell. I have gone down to the fiery pit of the DOT and witnessed the darkest and most miserable state of the human psyche. It took a Herculean effort not to spiral down to a rancorous disposition that was so thick in the air that it impregnated it like a poison. There I was like Odysseus, tied to the head mast with wax in my ears I threw myself at the Sirens, a mere quarter-inch of Plexiglas between us, and came out unscathed and able to tell the things I've seen.

All hyperbole aside, if you have never had the (dis)pleasure of having your car towed in New York City, you probably should experience it at least once so as to test your mental mettle. To keep your head cool and your wits about you as you blankly stare at a clerk behind a Plexiglas window while he or she is trying to give you instructions that may very well determine whether or not you will see your vehicle before the next epoch, and while a line of grumpy, irate, angry, pissed off individuals are bustling behind you either taking out their frustrations on the person next to them or on the poor sap on the other end of their cellphone call thereby making it impossible for you to hear the aforementioned clerk since the DOT did not think it prudent that these hapless purveyors of bureaucratic torment get a microphone or at least a vent in the piece of plastic that separates them from you and that would allow their voice and the crucial pieces of information carried within it to reach your perked up ears, is a feat that only a brave and strong few can accomplish.

And so there I stood with my heart beating fast, palms sweating, craning my neck so that I may try to make out the words that are being thrown in my direction, but can do nothing but slam against the window in front of me. The words, barely audible over the raucous going on behind me. It took a great deal of restraint to not turn around and shout a hearty "Shut the f*ck up!!!!!" to the line of miserable souls behind me. Luckily all my papers were in order and I did not have to raise my voice or pull my hair or slam my forehead against the glass. Instead, my lovely companion and I turned around and took our belongings and our sanity with us to the waiting area.

What we ended up getting were two front row seats to a spectacle that is the human condition. It was as if we were being treated to a private show; a small production filled with fascinating characters that all shared the same, miserable fate, but whose personalities were so drastically different that each, while facing the same horrid and insufferable situation, dealt with it in entirely unique ways.

A man with motorcycle helmet in tow chose the dignified wrath method. He was especially terrifying because the man's face did not move and was blank of any and all emotion as he proceeded to raise his voice and with the adrenaline still coursing through his veins—he seemed to have just come from the gym—he proceeded to enunciate word as he very loudly, yet politely, repeatedly demanded that he be given back his documentation.

Another—a rabble-rouser if I've ever seen one—decided to take things into the realm of passive aggression. "Welcome to New York City, baby. Three hundred bucks, welcome to New York," he proceeded to lament in a thick, what sounded like a Middle Eastern accent. He snarkily snapped cellphone pictures of the sign that listed the hefty fees that one would incur in getting their car back into their possession. At one point he was admonished by the supervisor for standing by a clerk's window instead of being at the designated waiting area. He threw up his hand and in a slow, mocking manner walked in our direction and took a seat next to my steadfast companion.

A young girl was trying for sympathy when her voice started to quiver and her eyes began to well. She begged for the man behind the glass to take and read a piece of paper that granted her temporary driving privileges. Clearly the man did not know how to handle this rare case and therefore resorted to send her away until she came back with a real driver's license. When she began to feel that her pleas were falling on deaf ears, she proceeded to read from the paper herself, voice shaking, pointing to the lines that declared that she was fit to drive until mid-July.

A woman huddled in the corner with her mobile phone. With what she probably thought was a lowered voice, loaded with sarcasm and profanity she described her "great" day to whomever was on the other end. She seemed surprisingly cool for someone who was apparently so close to missing a flight to some unknown destination.

Many others made their way through the gauntlet, each unique and fascinating. A young, male duo that would probably feel more at home in a Lower East Side dive than in this cold, heartless office, seemed to have befriended the man with the accent. One of them once remarked, matter-of-factly, that he may not have the money to cover the fees. A young Asian male seemed calm until he reached the window at which point he broke down and began to raise his voice like the countless others. A Hispanic gentleman got tired of waiting so he marched up to the supervisor window and gave her a piece of his mind, allowing all of us to listen in on his abusive tirade. This must have put him on the fast track since he was the next one to be called up to the pay window. "That's how you get anything done around here," he offered up as a helpful tip to me.

"Do you think at some point they lose all faith in humanity?" A question I floated to my companion about the city workers behind the glass, to which I received a hearty laugh as the response. This helped me to return to a more jovial state of mind as we both continued to observe and comment and laugh.

In the end, our stay was not as long or as filled with problems as most of the people we observed. I came away from the experience feeling pretty good about myself and how I was able to handle the stress that came at me like a steamroller the minute I saw my car missing from the spot where I had parked it on 10th Avenue. It is possible that were it not for the soothing effects that my partner had on me, I may very well would have flipped my lid. Maybe that would have made for a much more interesting blog post.

"When dealing with the insane, the best method is to pretend to be sane."
- Hermann Hesse