That Good Mischief Which Makes this World Mine

I had just been up all night doing dangerous drugs 3000 miles away the last time I was at a DMV. My brother and I strolled in, haggard faced and disheveled, our eyes wide and confused. We walked up to the little machine that gives out numbers. Our number was very far away.

"My God, this is so inefficient. Only Americans could arrange a mess this like." My brother said. He had just returned from living in Europe. He was having trouble readjusting to the fat, illogical ways of the free and brave.

I asked my brother, who was good with numbers, how long we had to wait.

"About two hours, I'd say." He replied

"Fuck this. Let's go to a bar. We'll come back in 120 minutes." I said.

He immediately agreed.

Finding a decent bar at 11 am on a tuesday proved to be more difficult than it would have been if we were still in the Czech Republic. When we slept there, we actually had to kill time doing something productive, like visiting Communist Museums, before we could justify to ourselves drinking. Here, everything was a reason to drink.


We pushed onwards towards a large shopping plaza with generic corporate eateries and retail bargin basements. We selected one cookie cutter restaurant and immediately headed towards the bar. I wasn’t hungry still as the acid was still working on my stomach, so I ordered a couple of large beers. My brother ate a sandwich as we stared at a cable news channel on television. It was one of the first times that I had cynically watched television all summer, and it hadn’t changed a bit.

I finished my beers and ordered two more, as my brother commented, “I’m impressed with your tolerance for alcohol.” He was casually sipping his first beer still.

“It’s something I’ve been working on for the last few years or so.” I said absently, starring at the waitress.

I paid the tab, and we left. Once back at the DMV, we opened the doors and they immediately called our numbers. It worked perfectly. Except I spaced out slightly, distracted by fleeting drug psychosis and alcohol, and missed my number. So I had to charm the old woman into taking me anyway, and she obliged.

Today, 3,000 miles to the west, I had my doubts that it would work out this well again. I walked into the DMV with my sunglasses on my head, a collared shirt slightly undone with my jewelry glittering in the hot sun. I felt good. The potato salad in my hand felt cold. It was a great day for a DMV picnic.

I pushed open the doors and pulled a number from the machine, just like back east. I grabbed a form from an old lady who smiled pleasantly at me. I beamed right back, my brown eyes wide and friendly. An old woman walked by, eyeing me up and down like she wanted to touch me. I sat down on an empty bench, my potato salad beside me, spreading out my arms confidently like wings. I started to fill out the form, realizing my number was only about a dozen away from being called. The little ticket said, "ETA: 15 min."

Not too bad for Oregon, I thought.

I scanned the room looking for a target. A young girl in a tight white 'Obama' T-shirt was standing nervously against the wall, wearing tight jean shorts. Her purple bra was visible underneath her t-shirt. I stood and walked over to where she was standing, and began absently digging through the brochures beside her.

"Why is it," I said, "that they bore you with this stuff?" I held up a brochure about driving commercial trucks. "Where are all the Maxims?"

She smiled. "I guess they're for the last minute people who didn't study."

She had a pretty voice. I vaguely wondered if she was here to get her permit or something. That'd peg her at 16, 17 tops.

I was nearly 24.

But she was lovely.

"I probably shouldn't say this, but you remind me a lot of Bugs Bunny's girlfriend from Looney Tunes."

She laughed, and mentioned how much she loved that show as a kid.

I decided she was probably trying to regain her license after a DUI or something.

"Hey, let me show you something my friend taught me today." I said. "Let's go sit over there." I led her back to my empty bench.

I took her hand in mine, and softly began tracing the lines. I gave her a palm reading. And I was good at it. I always enjoyed the occult. And she was amazed. She smiled at me, impressed with my vague truisms and cliches which on the surface seemed insightful.

I put my arm around her. At times, it was too easy.

Suddenly, she stood alert. They had called her number. She placed her hand on my shoulder, and said it was nice talking to me. She stood up, and pulled down her tight jean shorts around her thighs.

She walked around a corner to take her permit test.

Damn.

I had to wait maybe thirty seconds until I saw another target. A dark haired girl, looking a little goth. A lot of mascara. A lot of eye shadow. Jet black hair. Large breasts in a tight purple shirt and tight jeans. She'd suffice.

I walked over to her bench, and sat down between her and an older woman. I began talking to the old woman like I knew her my whole life. A few jokes later, and she was cracking up, leaning into me. I turned my attention to the goth.

"I don't mean to sound out of tune, but your hair looks awesome. It reminds me of that Scandinavian band that just played in Portland...what were they called?"

She smiled. Apparently she had modeled her appearance after male death metal norwegian music groups. It was the perfect thing to say.

"I'm not sure...I just saw Decadence up there a few weeks ago." She smiled at me. If she took off some of the make-up, she'd be helluh cuter.

"You go to Portland a lot? I know a lot of people up there." I said.

"No...I wish I went a lot. I need to meet more people up there." She replied.

"Well, if you play your cards right, maybe I could introduce you to some people. Not as cool as me of course, but close." I smiled a shit eating grin. "That is, if you go up there often."

"Oh yeah, I try to go all the time." She tried to qualify herself to me. She wanted to prove she was cool.

She laughed, and relaxed. Her eyes dilated slightly. She was comfortable.

"Let me show you something. Do you like magick?" I asked.

"Amber, are you ready for your test?" The old woman asked across me to the goth chick. Goth Chick rolled her eyes. I realized I had sat between the Goth Chick and her mother.

"Yeah...Don't worry!" Goth Chick said dramatically.

"Would you like some potato salad?" I asked the mother to keep her busy. "It's homemade." I had bought it on sale at Albertsons two days ago.

"Potato salad? Does it have egg?" She asked. How should I know? Oh, because I told her I had made it.

"Of course not." I replied.

She happily dug in with a fork I produced.

"What's your name?" Goth Chick asked me. This was a sign that she was interested in me, despite her mother leaning over us. Hell, maybe I could get them both at the same time. I smiled at the challenge.

"Moon." I replied. "And you?"

"Amber." She replied. "And how long have you known your friend here?"

She made a face, and I could feel mom beaming beside me at the backhanded compliment.

"That's my mom. Adrianna."

Suddenly, Adrianna stood quickly. "Amber," She cried, "we missed our number! Come on, they only give tests until 4!" She pulled Goth Chick away, and another blond girl followed as well, which I assumed was a sister.

Amber smiled, slightly embarrassed, and began to walk away. I held out my hand, and she took it and squeezed it. I watched them walk away, and I laughed to myself out loud, garnishing the uncomfortable look of a fat black woman.

This was the danger. I was hooked. I didn't even care, I just wanted to defeat any challenge, like the next level in a video game.

I smiled, my eyes wide and warm.

"Can I get your opinion on something?" I asked the black fatty.

"How do you make potato salad? Do you use eggs?"

Regards, Esortnom