I made the guy at the BMV cry.

I am NOT kidding. I got myself all worked up to go in there. Low and behold, I made the BMV man cry.
It went like this:
I entered the BMV with my two boys in tow. Secretly, I was hoping that the sugar they just ate would kick in and they would cause such a racket, the BMV would WANT ME OUT OF THERE. When we walked in, we were greeted by a machine that instructed us to touch the screen so it will print us out a number. This was our position in line. They were even courteous enough to let us know what number was currently being served so we could estimate how much time would elapse before we had to sit down face to face with someone. We got number 92. Number 88 was currently next to be called.
Crap! I thought, "If this goes well, my plan of dosing my kids up with sugar in the hopes of expediting this experience is going to backfire on me."
Whoa, they were efficient. We didn't wait 10 minutes. 92 was called and we took our place in front of a friendly looking, older gentleman. I handed him the current title to my car along with all of the other documents I feared I would need and explained to him the purpose of our visit.
He stared at the title transfer information for what seemed like a really long time. I waited. He continued to stare at it.
He finally looks up at me with watery eyes and says, "How long have you lived at this address?" I replied, "Only about a month. Is everything OK??"
Turns out, I just moved into this man's childhood home. He lived there from the time he was in first grade until he moved to California for a job in the mid 1970s. His parents sold the house in 2001. His parents have both since passed away and from what I could infer, he has some grief with which he hasn't dealt. His eyes welled up as he shared that he hasn't been able to drive by the house in quite a while. He shared a few memories of the structural layout of the house and pointed out where a couple of family pets have been buried in the yard. (eeek!)
I was floored. Of all the BMV associates I could have randomly by chance sat down in front of, I get the man who grew up in our home. It was bizarre, but in a good way. I was totally taken aback by his emotional response to seeing our address and truly enjoyed this strange connection to the man who was going to handle my title transfer, change my address on my license, and replate my car for the next 12 months.
Of course at this point, my sons have transformed into cyclone 1 and cyclone 2. Brilliant, Christie. Brilliant.
So, my fear that the visit was going to be disastrous, psychologically damaging, and may end in my arrest was totally unfounded. This man took care of everything I needed and congratulated me on my latest Dance Dance Revolution high score.