By Isa Ghani

Daily Titan Multimedia Editor

Here’s one thing I can finally agree with Americans on: The Department of Motor Vehicles sucks.

I recently had to undergo the long-winded ritual of applying for a California driver’s license. Oh, boy, was it a fiasco.

First, I had to go into the dreaded DMV building to actually fill out an application. I made it through the entire process without a hitch, no accidents, insults, tears, body cavity searches or secondary security inspections because I have a “bin” in my name. That’s right, the same “bin” that Osama bin Laden has.

When I finally make it to the counter, I’m told that I need to show them my I20 – the document that allows me to legally attend an American university. Of course, this is the one document I didn’t bring with me. I did have my passport, international driver’s license, birth certificate, plane ticket stubs, student ID, library pass, business card and this discount card a stripper in Vegas gave me. Basically everything under the sun, except my I20.

Take two: I returned with an even bigger collection of documentation a week later. Here’s the best part, this time they didn’t even ask for my I20. Regardless, I still insisted on showing it to the guy behind the counter repeatedly, just out of spite.

When I finally got in to take my written test, I realized that it is ridiculously easy to get a California driver’s license.

Most of the questions are pretty straightforward and based on common sense. It is pretty easy to figure out that if the car in front of you brakes, you should too.

And even if you’re a complete moron, you get three tries to pass your written test.

There is only a limited number of questions they could possibly ask, so if for some reason you do fail the test twice by the third time you would have memorized most of the questions and answers.

I also found out that you get three tries to pass the behind the wheel driving test. So, if I take my behind the wheel test, then crash into a school bus, drive over a fire hydrant and come to a halt inside a Dunkin’ Donuts I get another two tries before I’m banned from the road?

Awesome.

In Malaysia, I had to sit through a six-hour workshop, endure 20 hours of driving with an instructor in the car and take two different behind the wheel driving tests. We also all had to take the driving tests in crappy old stick shift cars that are reminiscent of the Smart Car, without any of the features that make it “smart.”

Oh, and if you fail any part of the process, whether it is the written test, the road test or if your instructor just thinks you are a horrible driver, you have to wait three months before you can take it again.

When I took my road test I had a female instructor who I found out has a huge aversion to rats. I learned this interesting little bit of personal trivia five minutes into my test.

As I pull out of the DMV, she started screaming at me. I freaked out, thinking, “God, did I run over someone already? I haven’t even left the parking lot yet.” I tried to stay calm and ask what’s wrong.

“Dead rat! Dead rat outside the car! Oh my God, there’s a dead rat outside the car!” she screamed into my ear. Trying to make light of the situation, I informed her that I thought it was still alive because it was kind of squirming.

Not a good idea – she freaked out even more.

Unsure of what to do, with her yelling at me, me yelling at her while receiving ridiculous and counter-productive instructions like: “Get out of here now! Please just drive away from the rat now!” Coupled with, “But drive slowly, carefully and obey all traffic laws,” I finally make it out and onto the road fine, but extremely rattled.

She then told me to just drive normally. Sure, as if I could do that now when I’m freaked out because my instructor just shrieked into my ear for the last five minutes.

Because I was kind of nervous and wanted to pass so I could get the heck out of there, I drove slowly, carefully and obeyed all traffic laws to the letter.

I stopped at every stop sign.

I signaled nearly a minute before I made turns. And if the speed limit was 35, I went 30 mph.

I eventually completed the course without killing pedestrians or rear-ending any squad cars and drove back to the DMV.

My instructor turned the car off, turned to me and said, “You are killing me with your driving; you drive so slowly.”

Back home I would regularly go around 100 mph and weave in and out of traffic like a ninja on crack. I’ve been driving for three years. I drive fast, and I drive well, so to have a rodent-phobic, slightly neurotic driving instructor tell me I drive too slowly for her, well that just killed me.

I just lowered my head, apologized and let her tear me a new one for about 10 minutes. I groveled, I begged, I whined and I pleaded for her to just let me pass. The whole time I was wishing that she would eventually pass me or that rats would carry her away in her sleep.

The former happened, and I walked away with my driver’s license after a long, arduous ordeal. I felt accomplished, proud and grateful to have somehow “won” at the DMV.

Two weeks later, I got my license in the mail, and realized that, no, there is no such thing as winning when it comes to the DMV – they got my name wrong.

Now I have to go back and see the delightful people at the Fullerton DMV once again sometime this week. This time, I’m bringing a thick book. Not for reading, but to throw at the next DMV official who yells at me because of small furry animals.