Apple and I ran a few errands today, most of which were related to tax preparation and other items of life’s miscellany. I tell you, the traffic around here is astounding — it’s definitely busier than last season, and perhaps one of the busiest we’ve had yet. Naturally, I may only be saying that because I don’t have a commute anymore. Still, it’s enough to remind me why I should be glad that I don’t.

Of course, the seasonal drivers are the worst drivers. That’s a favorite complaint of us full-time residents, and a favorite point of contention for snowbirds. Said snowbirds like to claim that they’re unfairly picked-on, and it’s really us full-timers who are the worst drivers, with all of our speeding and road-raging. If by “speeding” they mean “not driving 15 MPH under the speed limit,” then I am guilty as charged. And as far as “road-raging,” that’s what they probably call it every time somebody passes them. Which the passer may be doing with admittedly a bit too much gusto, after having his or her nerves worn down by the haphazard, slow meandering and weaving the snowbird is obliviously doing.

As usual, today was full of occasions where, either through your windshield or mirrors, you witness some absolutely jackass road maneuver. There was a little black Mercedes C-class behind me once that decided to turn right, then changed his mind and blocked the road trying to get back into my lane, then once he was there, he changed his mind again and stunk up traffic while trying to shove himself back into the right-turn lane again. All the while I’m more aware of his surroundings than my own, trying to predict whether somebody is going to run into this idiot and send him careening into me. Multiple nested levels of defensive driving ahoy!

The parking lots are even worse than the streets. You’ve probably seen people wait in a parking lot aisle for another driver to pack his groceries, get in his car and vacate his space. But down here, these jackanapes will sometimes line up two or three cars deep, even sitting and waitting in the middle of the roads surrounding the aisles, completely blocking up traffic as if they’re the only ones on planet Earth who exist. Amazing. And of course, everybody’s turn signal stalk might as well be located up their butt because they never seem to have any clue where it is. But, alas, I could fill a novel with gripes about Florida drivers, so I might as well stop now.

Anyway, while we were out, we stopped by the new Wild Oats Marketplace to grab lunch and see what was what. Wild Oats is our town’s new upscale grocery store with a focus on organic and naturally-grown products. It’s a really nice place, with a whole bevy of hot meals, sandwiches, soups and pizza-by-the-slice available for lunch. It was so nice, it made me forget the stress of navigating the parking lot. (Needless to say, I parked way out in Lot Z, where there was plenty of sanity to go around.) I could actually see myself grabbing lunch there from time to time, despite the expense. Additionally, Apple noticed that the new Panera Bread (in the same plaza) is finally open, so there’s another lunch location we can visit.

The comedy hour for the morning came at the local DMV. We submitted our annual vehicle registration renewal by mail three weeks ago, and by all accounts, it looked like it had gotten lost in the mail. I called the DMV central office yesterday to see if they’d received it, and they said that not only had they not received it, but it looked like they were all caught up on their mail. Fraggin’ postal service, I thought. So, we decided to go renew the plates at the local office today, just to get it over with before our big trip.

The office had moved. It’s still in the same area of shops, but when we got there, we found it on the other side of the plaza. They’ve combined the driver license and county tax collector offices into one big, institutional-looking office with a complex, computerized equivalent of “take-a-number.” You walk in, stand in line (by the way, the design of the office left almost NO ROOM for people to queue up without blocking the door) and get a ticket with your magic number on it. The magic number is preceeded by a letter — M for Motor Vehicles, D for Driver License, etc. Then you have a seat and wait to be called.

It’s funny, because at the old DMV office — dilapidated and cramped as it was — I never had to wait as long as we waited today. There are 26 service counters in the new office, as opposed to maybe 8 at the old one, and it took 45 minutes for us to be seen. Worse, we were 4th in line for Motor Vehicle requests, so in that time the Motor Vehicle department only serviced four other people. And yes, the counters are designated by department — not everybody can handle every type of request. Apple suggested that all the workers at the office should know how to handle all of the requests — M, D, whatever. That would of course make everything lots more efficient. Which means that it can’t possibly be done, because this is government.

Of course, some of the other customers in the office were just as inefficient, like the couple that came in to do something or other, a procedure which required two forms of identification. The woman thought that she could use a credit card as a second form of ID. She and her husband then proceeded to get rude with the helpdesk worker when that turned out not to be the case. Wow, you two are really bright — bright as a bucket of beans.

The comedy part? Once we were finally called up to the desk, we discovered that the ostensibly missing registration renewal we mailed in had finally been received and processed — that day. In other words, everything was already done. Well, that was a waste of time!