The Peanut God

The Peanut God:

Today is nice and sunny. One of those days where you actually don’t mind going out and putting on some make-up and doing your hair. A day to take a long stroll in the park. But I am not strolling along in the park, am I?

No, I am sitting outside the Building Department of New York City, waiting for my husband to return. As anyone knows, anything to do with New York City takes an eternity. No, I am not being facetious, or biased. I am being honest.

No wait, I am not being one hundred percent honest with you, there was that one time I went to pay an over-inflated property-tax bill. I was in and out in three days.
I stood in line and I thanked God I brought a coffee pot and a change of underwear, or I would’ve just walked out of there during the second day. You just have to draw the line somewhere.

Which brings the question: Going to the Department of Motor Vehicles any time soon? Well, be sure to bring a pillow, oh, and a bag of peanuts. Peanuts, you ask?
Well, let me explain. I don’t know what it is, but any (and every) time I’ve gone to the DMV there is someone behind that ominous seven foot counter eating some form of nut product. It won’t speed up your time there however, but you can (in the case of an emergency) use it as leverage.
The scene will most likely unfold something like this: Let’s say, “Doris” from the fifth window on the end calls you over.

She will, and I can almost guarantee this, have a handful as well as a mouthful of salty nuts. The salt will be sprinkled on the countertop like newly fallen snow. She will greet you with the usual, “What can I do ya’ for?” followed by your olfactory senses kicking into high gear from the sweet smell of nuts in the air.

You will sheepishly hand over your papers that have been folded, rolled up and unfolded at least a billion times while waiting on this god-awful endless line.
Fingers will be crossed, hoping beyond all hope that you have been standing in the correct line for the last three days.

Then she will say, “Honey, I can’t read this. You’re gonna have to go to line number 7. Get a form called XJ7786, fill it out in triplicate and …”
As if in slow motion, you will reach down deep into your satchel and whip out your bag of nuts. You, will, with one sweeping motion, slide them atop the counter.
She will glance downward and stop speaking, but only for a moment. Then, “Oooh. Peanuts. Are they salted?” will eek from her trembling lips.
You will answer slowly; tears will well up in your eyes, “Yes. Yes, they are.”
You will now be eye to eye with living indecision.
Will “Doris” take your graft? Will she let you walk out of the DMV, dignity intact?
Or, will she shame you, and have you walk the yellow line?
Oh, no. I think not.

With a sideways glance, she will look at you.
“I think it’ll be OK. Just this once honey. I have another form here. Fill it out, quick, OK?”

She will slide the new, correct paperwork over the bumpy, salty surface. You will begin to furiously fill out the paperwork when you hear from somewhere in the long expansive line behind you. A Protestor.
“Oh, come ON!” he will screech. “She can’t do that! She’s holding up the whole damn line! Jeee-sus!”

You will wince and swallow hard, hopefully, you greasing the DMV attendant will have been enough to keep away the big dogs. That’s right, I'm talking about SECURITY.

As if on cue, you will, undoubtedly see, out of the corner of your eye, a stout bluish figure coming toward you. Your pen, as if possessed by magic, will fly over the paper. You will slide your papers back to 'Doris', head hung low.

The bluish figure will ask, thumbs tucked into his belt, with an authoritative voice, “Any problem here, Doris?”

Doris will look at you, and then, at the hidden bag of salvation.
“Yeah, Frank.”

"Damnit, I should have brought CHOCOLATE!" will of course, be your first thought.
Then, as if an angel itself whispered in Doris’ ear, she will declare,
“That guy, over there. He’s causing a bit of a raucous. Maybe he needs to go to line five? Humm?”

Frank tips his hat at her, smiles and spins on his heel. She has just given him purpose.
You will give a small grin and belt out a chalky, “Thhhank you.”

She will wink at you and say, amid the sound of hammering of official seals being stamped, “No, dear. Thaaank you!”

You will grab your papers in your sweaty hands, and head for the door. You will step out into daylight, and shield your eyes from the sun.
“That wasn’t all that bad.” you will think to yourself, giving your eyes time to adjust to the light.

More than likely, you will see a shaky handed man heading for the DMV door looking upward toward the sky. His face will speak volumes,
“When will I see daylight again?”

A wave of compassion will come over you and you will find yourself grabbing this poor soul by the arm.
“Peanuts!” you will whisper violently in his ear. “If you bring them peanuts, you will not fail.”
You will back way from him. The man in front of you will stand wide eyed, and a look of clarification will wash over his face. He will nod slowly. He now knows what to do. His trip will not be in vain!

You will walk away quickly and head to your vehicle. You will open the door and just sit, and even though there will be six people waiting for your spot, you will sit in your car and thank the Peanut God for helping you through this arduous time.

But, today I am not at the DMV, and at the present moment I am not thanking the glorious Peanut God. I am hoping that my husband will return with some positive news from the good old Building Department.

Four hours later, my husband shows up. Dark circles under his eyes, open collar and no papers in hand can mean only one thing – tomorrow, I go in. I will bring truffles!