Psych-folk about all the things that can happen while you're waiting in line forever at the DMV.

AKA the department of motor vehicles, also known as a place that fulfills a necessary bureaucratic function as slow as it possibly can. It takes a long time. It's hard to convey how long it can take.
Well, ok, I'll try: have you ever gone to a pizza shop, like just been walking by and you're hungry so you stop in to order a small pizza to take home with you because shit is hard sometimes and it's nice to surprise yourself?
You go up to the counter, the glorious order of pizza with a ridiculous mound of cheese wafts out from behind her. You place your order and give the cashier your name, Rick Thompson, and then you go sit down to wait for your lunch.
After a few minutes they call "Thomas" and at first you get excited because your name kind of sounds like Thomas, but then some other dude who was already there gets up and takes the pizza and you're sad, but it wasn't your name anyway, so you don't pay it much mind, you just go back to looking at the autographed pictures of John Tesh, and Rebecca DeMorney, and other random celebrities that have stopped by over the years, presumably to also get pizza. It makes you reflect on how alike we all are in small ways that we never think about. Then you think about the fleeting nature of celebrity and how you haven't really seen Rebecca DeMorney in anything in a while, and that leads you to wonder if Peter Scolari is still alive, and before you know it a half hour has come and gone and you realize, "hold on a minute, where's my goddamn Pizza?"
So you go up to the cashier and you say, "Hey! It's been like a half hour-40 minutes, how much longer is my pizza going to take?" And she says, "What's the name?" and you say "Thompson, Rick Thompson." And then she goes in the back and you see her talking to one of the cooks and he says something back, and then they look at a receipt, and then look at another receipt, and he shakes his head, and she comes back out and looks confused and very apologetic and says, "Um, I'm so sorry but it looks like someone took your pizza."
"They...I..." you respond confused.
"Took your pizza, like just took it and left. But don't worry we'll, hey-we'll put another one right on for you!"
And then you're like, "Well fuck, it'll take me longer to get a refund and go somewhere else and wait for that food," so you sigh in frustration and hunger and go back and sit down, and FINALLY after another 10 minutes, they call your name and you eat the whole thing in your car in like 3 minutes.
The DMV takes longer than that.