For the large majority of his life, Wayne Griffin of Nashville, Tennessee, thought of the government and its associated bureaucracy as a troupe of well-meaning if bumbling buffoons – and of himself as an integral part of what made America, if not great, at least above average. However, his experience trying to get the newest trapping of the Deep State globalization agenda known as the Real ID caused him to question everything – including whether the government genuinely cared about him as a person or simply wanted to control him.
“I’m still on the fence about that,” sod Griffin, half a day into waiting patiently in line for his number to be called at his local Department of Motor Vehicles Driver Services Center. “When I got her at 7:30 a.m. and there were eighty people ahead of me in the queue, I had full faith and trust in the system. By 1:00 p.m. , when there were still forty people ahead of me, my faith and trust started wavering just a little. But now, with two hours to go before closing and only thirty more people head of me, I’m feeling more optimistic.”
Griffin explained that his motivation for getting the Real ID stemmed from his desire to be a compliant contributing citizen and to take a trip to Las Vegas via airplane. “More the latter than the former, if I’m totally honest. But I figure if I go along with things and don’t make too many waves, maybe I’ll make it easier for the next guy to bend over and take it in the you-know-what.”
He shook his head apologetically. “Sorry, I meant to say for the next gender-neutral individual in one of the you-know-whats, no judgment whatsoever as to which one. All this waiting around has taken a toll on my political correctness.”
Unfortunately, as it happened, Griffin did not make it through the Real ID queue by closing time and was compelled to leave the DMV without being officially enfolded into the global Deep State digital network. On the plus side, Griffin’s girlfriend, Angel O’Hara, had a homemade dinner prepared for him when he returned home weary and jaded, any lingering American pride relaxed by a libertarian, even anarchist, skepticism of “the system.”
“Sorry, babe, the bureaucrats got the best of ben today,” he told his partner. “Hundreds of us -jam-packed in this cubicle building, papers in hand, grist for the government mill. Not only that, since I didn’t get the thing, I’ve got to go back tomorrow.”
His girlfriend smiled tenderly “It’s called being blue-pilled, honey. And even if you go back to the Department of Matrix Vehicles, on a deeper level, there’s no going back.”
Griffin pulled her to him. “Are you saying this is what’s real, not that?”
She kissed him. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Wayne. And don’t you forget it.”
