this bureaucratic state

Long lines and extensive paperwork are best met with an agreeable demeanor and even more agreeable book. Happily, the lines during a recent visit to a certain bureaucratic entity in my newest state of residence were amenably short, so I read hardly any lines of the latter. I did, however, summon the former as I approached the counter, hoping a random bill and change of address form would suffice to prove my residency and establish me as a valid, voting, organ-donating member of the Great Lakes State.

They did, and I am sure the smile helped, although I was sad to see my Lone Star driver's license snipped so unceremoniously.

My attendant commented on the new Save-a-Lot going in across the street. "The poor people will be over there, and the rich people will be here," she said, nodding her head in the direction of the very swanky, organic grocery store next door to her employer.

She commutes from Detroit; a while back, when her father was sick, she took the day off to help him out. He needed to go to the Secretary of State, which is where, in this fair state, one attends to issues of titles and licenses and voter registration--the very office she had just taken a day off from. "That just took the cake," she said. "You should have seen my face when I walked in. I looked evil."