On Ghetto Horses

I am in the process of changing my name back to my maiden surname. This is apparently way more fucking complicated than I thought it would be.

I went to the social security office, but apparently they don't consider temporary (paper) ID's valid. Even though there is no mention of this on the website. But whatever.

So I attempt to go to the DMV, to yell at them (for the fourth time) for never getting my hard copy to me. Fortunately, throughout this ordeal, I have two friends (Chris and Andrew) to keep me company via texting.

Well, the bus was five minutes early, so I was just in time to see it drive past my stop from across the street. I was forced to wait another forty minutes for the next one. That should have been my first clue to just go home.

Then, the bus, which was different and separate from the first bus, that was supposed to take me to the DMV didn't. Google maps is a LIAR. Instead, I was taken on a very exciting tour of the Atlanta super ghetto! I spent an hour and a half attempting to find a window or door that wasn't barred, smashed, boarded up, or some combination thereof. I was disappointed.

There was also a terrifying stint where the driver stopped, opened the doors, and left the bus for about five minutes. We were parked across the street from an abandoned soul food restaurant with a hand-painted plywood sign. I suppose this is better than the cardboard and Sharpie combination outside a... "cafe"(?) that seemed to be run out of someone's house about twenty minutes behind us.

Chris- "Don't you dare leave that bus."
Me- "SO NOT EVEN AN ISSUE. TRUST ME."

Most wonderful, though, was the real, live horse in someone's yard! It looked healthy and average. It was just chilling. In someone's yard. In the middle of the Atlanta ghetto. I seriously considered stealing it and riding it home.

Andrew- "Just remember to return it when you're done. It probably has more power than the bus you're on."
Me- "You take all the fun out of everything."

To add insult to injury (well, theoretical injury, since I was fairly certain I was going to be shanked at any given moment), about ten minutes before we finally got to a train station, we passed the DMV.

There were no survivors.

P.S. I finally made it to the DMV the day after this happened.