Beware the Smokers at the DMV

I need a new driver's license. So I rolled up to the DMV fifteen minutes before opening today. Since there were others waiting in their cars, I decided to mosey on up and wait by the door.

First in line. In and out, right?

Well, it is the DMV -- a government run racket that prides itself on nonexistent customer service, wait times of at least 90 minutes and overcrowded seating areas. It's as if one person isn't allowed to fill out paperwork, present alternate forms of identification and write out a check by themselves. In Podunk, Tennessee, it takes Momma, Sister and Bubba.

That being the case, I thought I was sitting pretty at being the first in line.

My problem started with an overweight smoker who probably was an All-State linebacker in high school. He was puffing away and slurping up coffee as we all stood outside under overcast skies. The American Flag had wrapped itself around the pole, like it had no energy to flap anymore. Probably sick of the guy's smoke.

But anyway, this guy was doing what I would normally consider a pretty innocuous and habitual thing to do in the sticks while waiting for government doors to open. Smoking and drinking.

When he turned toward me, however, I saw a bulge under his t-shirt, at the waist band of his generous-sized khakis. This wasn't just any bulge. It looked like he shoved a Sherman tank in there. Why he bothered to cover it with a t-shirt is beyond me.

I stared and stared and of course tried to do it subtly so he wouldn't think I was staring. But, through my trained and highly sharpened eye for such things, I saw what appeared to be the muzzle of a 9mm Glock -- that's a semi-automatic pistol -- aiming for where he probably wouldn't want it to hit.

That pistol makes up 65% of the hand gun market. So it's pretty common.

What's not common is the semi-concealment of it at the DMV.

I decided to get my driver's license tomorrow.