You're fresh off the truck from Kansas. You read somewhere that you have ten days after moving to the Sunshine State to get a Florida driver's license. So you dutifully march your newbie ass down to the nearest office of the Department of Highway Safety & Motor Vehicles. And you wait in line. And wait. And wait. And wait. The woman seated to your right snaps her gum and gripes in a thick Bronx accent. The sweaty guy on your left holds a loud conversation with his pal via the cell phone grafted to his ear. It dawns on you that you may have died and gone to hell. Our mentioning that salvation was only a phone call away will only make it worse, but it's true. You could have made an appointment. You'd have been in and out in half an hour, the proud possessor of a spanking-new Florida license complete with your smiling mug. But you didn't make an appointment. You're a loser. Hope you brought something to read.