18 Signs You’ve Been at a Pennsylvania DMV Too Long That Aren’t Funny Until You Leave

You show up at the DMV with a full battery, a snack, and high hopes. You think, “In and out, I’ve got this.”

Oh, sweet summer child.

Fast forward several hours, and you’ve gone from scrolling your phone to debating the ethics of cutting in line. The chairs are harder. The air is drier. And your sense of reality is slowly unraveling.

You start wondering whether you’ve crossed the line from patient Pennsylvanian citizen to DMV hostage. If any of the following signs ring a little too true, it’s official: You’ve been at the DMV way too long.

You’ve Read Every Sign on the Wall, Including the Ones in Spanish

You started with the English signs. “No food or drink.” “Be prepared to present your paperwork.” “Smile for your photo.”

The usual stuff.

But eventually you ran out, so you turn to the Spanish versions. Even if you don’t speak Spanish, you give it your best shot.

Soon, you’re mentally translating them, giving them dramatic voiceovers.

Then you start noticing the fine print. The signs haven’t been updated in years; one still even references fax numbers.

You consider suggesting they hire you as a sign editor. You’d be good at it, too.

You Become Protective of Your Chair

You didn’t plan on getting attached to anything at the DMV, of course. But now, 1.5 hours in, chair 6 by the potted plant feels like your territory.

You’ve molded to its shape. You’ve developed a quiet rivalry with the person who keeps glancing at it every time they shift from leaning against the nearby wall.

When you go to the restroom, you toss your jacket over the back. Someone still sits in it anyway. You spend the next 15 minutes staring at them like they’ve betrayed you.

It’s not even that the chair is comfortable. It just feels like yours now.

And if it’s near an outlet and far from the door draft, you feel smarter than everyone else in the waiting room.

You Start Narrating Like a Documentary

At first, it’s just waiting. You scroll your phone, check the time, maybe eavesdrop on the woman talking about her expired license plates.

But then something strange happens—you start narrating your experience.

You begin imagining a whole documentary episode. The silent couple to your left? They’re “The Endurers.” The guy pacing back and forth? “The Wanderer.”

Everyone becomes a character in your observational masterpiece. Somewhere in your mind, you’re even planning the sequel: “DMV II: Still Waiting.”

Once the inner narrator kicks in, it’s over.

You’ve mentally exited the DMV, even if your body’s still slumped in that hard plastic chair, watching the numbers light up at a pace that rivals tectonic plates shifting.

You Try Figuring Out the Number Sequence

At first, the random mix of letters and numbers being called at the DMV seems arbitrary. B47. H12. G93.

But after a while, a strange logic appears.

You notice that every time you think your number is about to be called, the system skips your entire letter group and loops back around.

You start to suspect there’s a mischievous algorithm behind the desk built just to toy with your expectations. You begin calculating probabilities. “Okay, G91 was 14 minutes ago… if it loops back after H18, I might be next.”

You even try to game the system in your head. “They’ve done three G’s and four B’s. That means an H is due any minute.”

But the screen flashes another J-number and shatters your fragile hope.

And when your number finally gets called, your trust in numbers and justice is already gone.

You’ve Seen Three Full Outfits Cycle Through on One Person

There’s always that one prepared person at the DMV who brings layers. Hoodie. T-shirt. Jacket. Sweater. Maybe even a scarf.

After a couple of hours, you realize you’ve witnessed all of them.

The temperature in the DMV is a chaotic system on its own. Arctic blast near the windows, heatwave by the printer.

People start adjusting accordingly, and you’ve seen one woman put on a hoodie, take it off, switch to a light jacket, then double-layer again when the AC kicks back in.

At some point, you start rooting for their next outfit change like you’re watching a runway. “Oh, she’s going with the denim this round. Bold move.”

You then check your own layers. Maybe you could’ve planned better. You’re stuck in a T-shirt or sweater that now feels either too cold or too warm every 20 minutes.

You’ve Named the Employees Behind the Desk

You may not know their actual names, but you’ve assigned them nicknames.

Fast Typer. Snack Breaker. Glare Master. You’ve observed them enough to develop full personalities.

You start rooting for some of them. “Yes! She’s back from break. She’s quick.”

Others become antagonists in your inner drama. “Oh no, he’s walking slow again. Here we go.”

You imagine their backstories. Glare Master definitely has a cat named Regina. Fast Typer goes home and does crossword puzzles in pen.

You know when they take their breaks. You know who uses the stapler with extra punch. You’ve been waiting around long enough to feel like you work there.

You’ve Eaten Snacks and Considered Going for a Meal

You swore you wouldn’t touch the emergency granola bar. But that was two hours ago. Now the granola bar is gone, along with the bag of chips you didn’t even want.

You start looking at the vending machine like it’s a gourmet food truck. Even the soggy tuna sandwich starts to seem appealing.

You debate whether you can slip out to grab a coffee without missing your number. You fantasize about hot fries, cold drinks, maybe even a milkshake.

When someone walks in with a drive-thru bag, you lean forward like you’re watching royalty.

You’ve Spotted a Child Go From Giggling to Full Meltdown and Back Again

Kids are an open book. If they’re tired, bored, or fed up, they show it.

If you’ve been at the DMV long enough to witness a toddler go from kicking their feet to full-on crying to passed out to giggling again, you’ve been there too long.

You start tracking strangers’ kids moods like you’re monitoring a weather app. “Uh oh. Eye rubbing. Nap incoming.”

Eventually, the crying doesn’t even phase you anymore. You’ve heard it for so long, it’s just background music.

You begin rooting for them too. “Hang in there, little buddy. You’ve almost made it.” They’re fighting their own DMV battle. And you’re right there with them.

You’ve Downloaded Apps Just to Delete Them Again

You didn’t even want a new puzzle game. But it passed a few minutes. Then you deleted it. Then downloaded another one. Then tried a breathing app. Then deleted that too.

Eventually, you give up and scroll your photos from six years ago. You rediscover old screenshots, vacation photos, and blurry pet pics from 2018.

You consider re-downloading that budgeting app you promised you’d use last January.

You don’t. But you think about it.

By the end, you’ve spent more time organizing your apps than filling out the forms you came to the DMV for.

You Start Coaching Newcomers Like a Seasoned Veteran

Someone walks in looking lost. They fumble at the kiosk, squint at the screens, and glance around nervously.

You lean over, calmly. “Press the blue button first. Then the screen will ask for your zip code.”

You say it with the authority of someone who’s explained this before. Many times before.

They thank you with the same gratitude a tourist gives a local who helped them find the train. You nod in solidarity.

It becomes part of your routine. You start offering directions, tips, even little motivational speeches. “They usually call G-numbers in batches, so hang in there.”

At this point, you’re not just a customer. You might as well be an employee.

You’ve Witnessed a Full Customer Meltdown and Quietly Judged It

There’s always one person who reaches their breaking point at the DMV.

They raise their voice. They wave papers in the air. They accuse the system of being unfair and declare the whole operation a waste of time.

You don’t necessarily disagree. But you also don’t want to make a scene.

So you lower your eyes, sip your vending machine soda, and think to yourself, “I get it. But also, yikes.”

The staff handles it like professionals. It’s clearly not their first meltdown. You wonder how often this happens and whether there’s a secret meltdown bingo card behind the desk.

When it’s over, everyone shifts uncomfortably and pretends it didn’t happen. But in your head, you’re already casting the meltdown for your DMV documentary.

You’ve Seen the Sun Shift Across the Sky

When you walked in, morning sunlight spilled through the windows. There was hope in the air. A sense that maybe you got to the DMV early enough to avoid the crowds.

Then the sun rose higher, and the room got warmer. You peeled off your jacket.

You realize you’ve spent half a cycle of daylight inside a fluorescent-lit government office. It’s like you’ve done a short stint in DMV prison without parole.

You look around and wonder how many others have tracked the sun just like you.

You’ve Considered Forming a Support Group With the People Around You

At first, you were all strangers. Just people waiting.

But as time passed, you bonded—wordlessly at first, then with shared sighs, and finally through whispered jokes.

Someone jokes, “I think I aged a year while waiting for H32.” You laugh harder than you should, mostly out of desperation.

You compare ticket numbers. Swap stories. Someone offers gum and it feels like a generous act of friendship.

Before long, you’re half-seriously discussing a group text thread called “DMV Warriors.”

You don’t exchange names, but it doesn’t matter. You’ve been through something together. And you’ll never forget Chair Row D, Zone 3.

You’ve Started Rearranging Your Entire Day

You came in with plans. Just a quick stop to renew your license. Then groceries. Maybe a haircut. You had it all mapped out.

But now? Those plans are long gone.

Your phone reminders ding, and you swipe them away like they belong to another life.

You start texting people to cancel things. “Running behind” becomes your automatic reply.

Eventually, you’re not even mad. You’ve accepted that the DMV doesn’t follow the laws of time. It bends your schedule to its will, and you’ve learned to surrender.

You might not get anything else done today, but you will get that license renewed.

You’ve Checked the Clock Three Times, but It Hasn’t Moved

First time: 2:17 p.m.
Second time: Still 2:17 p.m.
Third time: Your phone agrees—2:17 p.m.

How can this be? You’ve had snacks. You’ve deleted apps. You’ve mentally organized your closet.

It must be later than that.

You consider whether time stops inside government buildings. Eventually, the clock ticks to 2:18, and it feels like a miracle.

You don’t celebrate. You just nod, somberly, like a battle-hardened soldier seeing the first sign of hope.

Time moves again. You may get out of the DMV today after all.

You’ve Talked to Yourself and Maybe Answered

You whisper little things like, “Just 10 more people ahead. I can make it.” Then, without thinking, you reply to yourself. “You’ve said that for the last hour.”

You catch yourself chuckling at your own sarcasm. You realize you’re now both the stressed-out customer and your own comedy sidekick.

You even start coaching yourself. “Just hold it together. You’re doing great.” This is what it’s come to.

Someone sitting nearby looks at you. You think they might be judging. But then they mutter something to themselves, too.

You’ve Thought About Getting a Job at the DMV

You’ve been at the DMV long enough to see the whole system play out—again and again. You know which desk is the fastest. Which printer jams. Which customer questions slow the line.

Now your thoughts drift. You start imagining how you’d do things if you ran this place.

“I’d get rid of that kiosk. I’d add more chairs near the front. I’d install a coffee machine.”

You don’t know whether it’s delusion or a real career pivot.

But either way, the DMV has made you think about employment opportunities.

You’ve Planned Your Escape to Somewhere Far From Any DMV

You’re not just dreaming of leaving the building. You’re imagining a total lifestyle change. Somewhere quiet. Maybe on a mountain. Or a beach town with no paperwork and zero lines.

You picture yourself opening a food truck or living in an RV. Just anything that doesn’t involve waiting for your number to be called.

Your DMV daydreams get vivid. You’re walking barefoot. You’re sipping something fruity, and no one’s asking for two forms of ID.