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Balthus always knew he would die some day. It was just a fact of life, like how you shouldn’t reheat onion rings in the microwave or get someone’s name tattooed on your ass—no matter how good they were in the sack. But unlike those two hard-earned life lessons, death was never a fact Balthus tried to run away from. No, death was an inevitability he embraced with every sketchy zip line, rusty piercing needle, and two-week-old burrito that crossed his path.
But Balthus didn’t think it would end like this.
He never thought his short, wild life would end here, in this purgatory of fluorescent lights, laminate tile, and soft elevator music. Here, in this prison where the inmates do nothing but stare at the clock on the wall and wait for a release that may never come in quiet desperation. Here, where the people in power seem to take gleeful delight in the psychological torture of all who dare enter.
Here, at the DMV.
And if Balthus has to wait in this line for one more minute, he is literally going to combust.
“Next!”
Crisis averted. For now.
Balthus saunters up to the counter, fingers fidgeting around the plastic bag that holds all of his important documents. He approaches the woman at the counter. She doesn’t even look up from her computer as he does. She’s a few years past 50. Nondescript blouse buttoned up to the collar. Hair styled like she’s in the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Photos of kids on her desk. Wedding ring on her finger.
She’s exactly Balthus’s type.
“I’m here to get a driver’s license.” He pushes his hair back and leans against the counter. She plays hard to get and doesn’t seem to notice.
“Do you have an ID?”
“No.”
“Do you have a passport?”
“No.”
“Do you have a birth certificate?”
“No. But,” Balthus digs through his bag, plastic crashing against plastic like the time he brought a party pack of peanut M&Ms to the ballet. “I do have this home video of my birth.”
He slaps a VHS tape on the counter. The DMV Lady eyes it like it’s roadkill.
“Sir—”
“It’s totally legit!” Balthus nudges the tape closer to her. She rolls back a few inches in her chair. “Like, I’m not one of those creeps who just takes any old birthing video and tries to pass it off as my own. You can definitely tell it’s me. Full head of hair.”
He points to his greased locks. She turns back to her computer in what could be construed as defeat.
“Name?”
“Balthus von Albrecht.”
“Have you taken a drivers ed course?”
“No,” he responds, “But I’ve been driving since I was eight and didn’t get caught without a license until just last week.”
If she’s impressed by his answer, she doesn’t let it on. The minx.
“Do you use corrective lenses of any sort?”
Balthus laughs. Who does she think he is? Someone with healthcare?
When she doesn’t seem to get the joke, he lies and says he has 20/20 vision.
“Date of birth?”
“July 9th…saints, I always forget the year. But it should say on the video if you’ve got a VHS player we could pop it in real quick—”
“No, no! That won’t be necessary.” She grimaces at the tape once more before entering something in her computer with a final, decisive click. Balthus’s chest swells. Her confidence is infectious. “Well, Mr. von Albrecht, since you have never held a driver’s license and have not completed a drivers ed course, you’ll need to take an official exam.”
“No prob, I’m the undisputed king of parallel parking—”
“And you’ll need to bring two documents that prove your residency.”
“What do you mean?”
“Credit card bills, water payments, really just anything official with your name and address on it.”
“I’ve got a cease and desist from McDonald’s for dressing up as the Hamburglar at kids’ birthday parties, does that count?”
The DMV Lady looks up from her computer and studies Balthus carefully. There’s a moment of something between them that Balthus can’t quite place his finger on. It eludes him, like the final globs of hair gel in the tube or the last, lingering crumbs of doritos out of the bag.
Still, whatever it is, it’s hot.
“I guess.” She breaks eye contact. “It looks like the next available exam is…” She scrolls for several seconds and tuts. “Three months from now.”
“Three months?” Balthus rattles his plastic bag in disbelief. “What am I supposed to do until then?”
“I can give you a bus schedule—”
“Nah, I’m banned from the bus. Can’t say why,” he adds. “Ongoing investigation.”
“Right.” She clacks the keyboard a few more times. “I suppose I can give you a temporary learner’s permit, but you’ll have to have someone over the age of 25 sit in the passenger’s seat every time you drive.”
“Oh that’s perfect, I have to give my buddy Hapi a ride to work after this, and I’m like, 90% sure she’s over the age of 25.”
DMV Lady sighs, mumbles something that sounds a little bit like “I’m not paid enough for this”, then angles a small camera on the counter toward Balthus.
“We need to take your picture. On the count of three. 1—”
“Wait, give me a second—”
“2—”
Balthus fumbles around in his plastic bag. “My hair—”
“3—”
“I’m out of gel, fuck!”
The flash goes off somewhere in between the words “gel” and “fuck”.
The printer whirs, and DMV Lady tears the fresh, steaming paper from its tray.
“Here’s your temporary permit.” She hands the paper to him. “Have a nice day, Mr. von Albrecht.”
He leans on the counter and wags his eyebrows. “You can call me Balthus.”
“Goodbye, Mr. von Albrecht.”
She gestures to the door. And with that, The Undisputed King of Parallel Parking shakes his long locks and struts out of the DMV, plastic bag rustling against his pleather pants, for what unfortunately will not be the last time.
But hey, at least he’s got a good excuse to see that MILF at the counter again.