Three Bad Things: The DMV, Old People Banging Shopping Carts Into My Ankles, and Truck Nutz

Mark has what I like to call, "The Magic Ticket". It's a tag that he can hang from the rear view mirror that allows us to park right outside the door of whatever bar or store we're going to. He likes to pretend that he doesn't need it, and that he actually uses it for my benefit, but when he realized it was about to expire he was adamant that we go to the DMV and renew it. So yesterday we set out for the DMV. From what I understand, DMV stands for Department of Motor Vehicles, so you would think we were correct in going there.

"Next! Yes, how can I help  you?"

"I need to renew my magic ticket (Mark didn't really call it that)."

"I don't understand, sir."

"This here tag, (Mark holds up the tag) is about to expire. I need to renew it."

"Oh, we don't do that here."

"You don't do that here? At the Department of Motor Vehicles?" 
"No sir."

"Where then, do I renew this tag?"

"I don't know sir." was her response, spoken as if Mark was some kind of idiot. "We don't do that here."

So that was the first stop on our little safari yesterday. Second stop, the Penn Dutch grocery store, which I sometimes enjoy because of all the free samples of cheese and meats they give out. And sometimes I don't enjoy because of all the old people banging their carts into my ankles. They did not disappoint. Our third stop yesterday, was Costco where I was reminded of one of the reasons I hate Christmas. It was mobbed. The parking lot was full with a multitude of autos slowly moving up and down the aisles looking for the closest spot they could find to the store entrance. Lucky for us, Mark has the magic ticket and there was one blue parking spot open. As Mark aimed the car towards the open spot, a huge oversized pickup truck sporting those 'truck nutz' pulled ahead of us. Mister mini peen driving the truck wasn't headed for the blue parking spot. He wanted the one three spaces down. He had seen the old couple slowly moving towards their car and had followed them. He then sat there blocking the aisle while the rickety old couple slowly, and I mean very slowly, loaded their purchases into the trunk of their giant Lincoln. No amount of horn honking, light flashing, or cursing could get him to move four feet so that Mark could pull into the blue parking spot.

There is no satisfying end to this story, no comeuppance for Mister Truck Nutz. Just another afternoon with Mark endured.