The Smile Revolution at the DMV

Yes, you read that right. Someone at the DMV was smiling. On purpose. And trying to spread it around.

Prior to making this discovery, I was at work, waiting for clients to approve various things (Why does it always work like this? Do they conspire behind our backs? I wait and wait and hear NOTHING all morning and afternoon and then ten minutes before I have to leave, everybody comes back with their changes all at once and of course they need them all NOW.)

So I went out to take care of a long-overdue trip to the DMV to change my registration. Finally I was retiring the old clunker; the one you couldn't drive unless the window was open lest you suffocate from the fumes, the one whose battery died more frequently than a Soviet president. I'm not sure why, but a neighbor kid's friend wanted the car, without so much as a test drive. So before I could hand it off, I did the change-the-insurance thing, then took that long, slow walk to the big glass building (a modern thumb in this coloniol city's eye) where they house the DMV and other license and registration type behavior.

And was handed a fistful of forms to fill out.

Then directed to Room Number Two to get more forms filled out have my fifty-eight dollar registration fee collected, which I know will not be used to fill the potholes or remove the snow.

That's where I met the Smile Woman. She was being helped by one of the clerks ahead of me. She looked like your average Woodstock resident. For those of you not familiar, this would be a baby boomer, of either male or female persuasion, who just hasn't quite gotten it into their heads that the 60s are over, that chunky beaded necklaces are simply not coming back, and have a complete wardrobe of earth-toned, natural-fiber clothing, reusable hemp shopping bags and comfortable, practical footwear.

Plus they often smell like patchouli. Or the natural sort of ripe, human aroma which is not especially appreciated within a ten-foot radius.

Anyway, she announced to the clerk (and to everyone else in the room) that she was part of the Smile Revolution, and she had her own radio show, and a blog that I just have to Google to satisfy my curiosity, (here it is: http://www.thesmilerevolution.com/) and her mission was to make the world a better place by telling everyone to smile more.

Frankly, this would just make me worry more. If everyone I passed were smiling for no apparent reason. I'd think I had something stuck in my teeth or my blouse was unbuttoned.

Or I'd think they were all up to something.

Perhaps this is part of her Bush Survival Therapy. (Yes, in the Woodstock area, there is such a thing. This, the Bluest of the Blue states, actually experienced such a wrenching case of the blues that Prozac was introduced into the water supply and alternative therapists rubbed their hands together with glee.)

I don't know...or perhaps she's on to something. Can I...can I...(I'm really trying now, my lips feel the stretch...my cheeks are starting to burn...and I'm smiling. Yes, people, I'm smiling, and you know what? I feel so much better! It doesn't matter that the ozone layer is depleting so quickly that Woodstock is going to become a beachfront community...it doesn't matter that my house is a mess and I can only work part-time and the Middle East is blowing itself to hell and our government is an international joke and...

For Christ's sake. Can I stop now? My face is starting to hurt.