Hats off to Palmer DMV

Years ago, when a car was considered “high-tech” if it had an automatic choke, I bravely walked into a Department of Licensing office (I wasn’t living in Alaska at the time) to get my very first driver’s license.

I can still recall the experience and shudder. It wasn’t because I was nervous about passing the test; heck, I’d been driving cars around the field since I was 5 and my step-dad was letting us sneak a drive on logging roads now and then beginning around age 10.

No, what I remember most about that trip was how absolutely rude the people behind the counter were. It was as though they relished the opportunity to intimidate first-time drivers — or anybody needing their help. And if the employees weren’t yelling at me, it was often the other customers who made the trip memorable.

As the years went by, I guess I just got used to it. Going to the Department of Licensing was always an adventure. In fact, I used to think that if they just had a group of strange-looking bald guys standing off in some corner playing the appropriate music it would be possible to imagine you were in the Mos Eisley Cantina on Tatooine (“Star Wars” reference for you folks scratching your heads).

Here’s a typical trip.

I would walk in, grab a number and sit down. My number would be something like 356 and they were currently helping No. 9. Well, not really “helping,” more like “shouting.” The customer was angry that he couldn’t just be handed a new license just because the last one had expired around the time of the first moon landing.

After the amusement wore off of watching the drama at the counter, I would look around the lobby for some new entertainment. Perhaps the guy sitting there with no shirt? I wonder how long before somebody notices and tells him he’ll have to go put on a shirt and come back. Will he get angry, or just leave peacefully to go find a shirt? Mentally, I place my wager. And that young lady looks like she’s waiting to get her picture taken for a new license. Should I tell her that she has Big Mac sauce running down the front of her blouse? I hope that kid with the purple Mohawk and nose chain still is into this look in a few years when he’s asked for his ID.

After waiting in the lobby most of the morning, I would get excited because my number was next! Oh, how I had been waiting for this moment so I could conclude my business and exit this freak show.

Never fail, just as the DOL employee would conclude his assistance with the person ahead of me, it would be lunchtime, or break-time, or perhaps just time for that person to start up a conversation with another employee about the homemade doughnuts in the break room.

Sigh! When I am finally called to renew my license, suddenly, it’s 1944 and I’m trying to cross the Swiss border.

Did you fill out the proper forms? Why are these forms not in order? Is this still your address? Are you SURE it’s still your address? Why are you sweating? Are you nervous? Why are you nervous?

Flash forward several years to the present when I drove son No. 3 to the Department of Motor Vehicles in Palmer last week to get his instructional permit. I’ve been back up in Alaska for a while now and I never really took the time to appreciate how much better we have it up here — at least at the Palmer DMV office.

As always, I went into the office and grabbed a number and a seat. Right away I could tell things were different when everybody was fully dressed and nobody was yelling. Even though the office was fairly full, we honestly didn’t have to wait long before it was our turn.

Here is the best part — the people working the counter were genuinely helpful and courteous. And this wasn’t an exception; it’s been the same each time I’ve been there.

If they can’t provide what you need, they give you tips on who can or the best way to fix a problem. Not the typical, “Sorry, we don’t do that here — next!”

I once heard somebody grumbling about the long wait at our local DMV, but honestly, I don’t think that person had ever had been to any other office and therefore couldn’t appreciate how good we really have it here. Relatively short lines and excellent customer service — my hat is off to these fine people. Thanks, Palmer DMV!

Ben Compton is a Palmer resident and publishes his column as “Compton’s Corner,” the same title used by his grandmother, Phyllis Compton, a longtime Frontiersman columnist.