In Franz Kafka's novel, The Trial, the main character is arrested and scheduled for an arraignment and an eventual trial. He sits inside a building that serves as the courthouse for a remote unnamed location. The authorities that are bringing the case against him are unknown. He has never seen them, nor talked to them. He doesn't know what the charges are against him. All he knows is that he is being arraigned and eventually tried for something.
The Trial is one of the best-known books written by Franz Kafka, acknowledged as one of the greatest existentialist writers of all time.
I thought of Kafka last Friday as I waited in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles office on Flamingo Road in Las Vegas. When you go to the DMV anywhere in Las Vegas, prepare to spend more than an hour in line just to talk to someone. After talking to one of the many DMV employees who sit in open windows, you are given a number and you're supposed to wait two to three hours so you can be helped by other employees with their own open windows.
Pray that the second employee you talk to will be able to help you. If that employee can't, or won't, you will be asked to come back and go through the process of falling in line and sitting for hours, awaiting your turn.
I thought of The Trial because of the absurdity of the Nevada system for the enforcement of its clean-air laws.
My daughter's car, a 2001 Ford Windstar, failed the smog test in Nevada a month ago because of an engine light on its dashboard and an indication that an oxygen sensor was not working. Since my daughter had to hastily go back to Los Angeles to attend her college classes, I instructed her to have the repair for the oxygen sensor done in LA.
On my trip to LA two weeks ago, I decided to drive the Windstar back to Nevada to have it smog-tested once more. It failed again, this time because another oxygen sensor was not working.
My mechanic in Vegas fixed the problem and reset the car's computer to remove the engine light on the dashboard. He told me to drive the car 50 to 80 miles before going for another smog test. I did, but this time, the car was rejected because the computer in the car had not re-set. I called my mechanic, who told me I had to drive the car another 100 miles and just keep driving it, waiting for the computer to re-set.
I took the car for a smog test a fourth time. It was rejected again.
Another mechanic suggested to me that I needed to drive the car at least 50 miles at speeds under 60 miles per hour and then bring it back to him. I did that yesterday. You ready for this? It was rejected a third time and with the two failed tests, that was the fifth time the car could not get past the smog-test station.
The car's computer had not yet re-set.
While I was in line at the DMV last Friday, waiting to talk to an "Information" clerk, I thought of Franz Kafka and the Trial. Why was the full weight of the Nevada bureaucracy on my shoulders? Was I being accused of fouling up the air? I know this was not the case because the test results never mentioned toxic substance levels beyond the level of tolerance coming out of my car's tailpipe.
The car's computer actually works, it just did not work properly in one area - the monitoring of oxygen levels.
The car's registration expires today, August 22, which was the reason for my visit to the DMV. I needed to get a time extension for registering the car. And that I accomplished, easing the burden on my shoulders.
I stood there in line thinking of The Trial. No one is accusing my car of fouling up the air. The whole point of smog testing is to make sure that the car does not spew toxic substances into the atmosphere at levels beyond what are permissible.
The car is not being accused of that. What it is accused of is that the computer is taking too long to function in one area, and one area only - the monitoring of impurities. Because of that, the car cannot be registered. Everybody knows that it sometimes takes a long time before a car's computer starts to function properly again, yet I'm supposed to make the computer work by driving it around and around in the streets of Las Vegas to force its computer to kick in. How far I have to drive - and for how long - nobody knows.
I've already put in close to 500 miles, driving around, nowhere in particular to go. Meanwhile, I cannot register the car because it continues to be rejected for the smog test.
I thought the smog test measures the quality of the air that comes out of the car's tailpipe. In New Jersey, contractors for the Department of Motor Vehicles stick a metal rod into the car's tailpipe to measure the amount of toxic substances that are coming out. If those substances are within tolerable limits, the car passes inspection.
Of course, in New Jersey, they also look at the engine light. If the engine light is not on, the car passes. My car's engine light has been off since my Las Vegas mechanic fixed the oxygen sensor problem.
In New Jersey the Motor Vehicles people test for toxic substance levels, the whole point of keeping the environment clean.
In Nevada, it's an existentialist nightmare. You know that your car is not polluting the atmosphere. Yet your car cannot be registered. The whole weight of Nevada bureaucracy is on your shoulders. Your friends, neighbors, everybody tells you that at some point in their lives they too have found themselves face-to-face with Nevada' existentialist bureaucracy.
I am channeling Franz Kafka. Hey Franz, want to write another novel?
I was to meet with a Filipino mechanic this morning (Sunday, August 22) who would finally put a fix on the problem.
But before I meet with him, he said, I had to drive my car on the highway at 45 mph for ten miles, then drive it at 65 for another ten miles, then 45 again followed by another ten miles at 65.
I hopped on my car at 8:30 a.m., drove north on Highway 215 for ten miles at 45 mph, got off the highway, turned around and started driving at 65. I noticed that the car started to make funny noises as a I struggled to keep it running at 65 mph. The car kept decelerating. Luckily for me it was Sunday morning and there weren't many cars on the highway.
I kept pressing on the gas pedal as the car slowed down to a crawl. When I reached the off-ramp to Sahara Avenue, I took it and forced the car to climb up the ramp until I had to step on the brakes in front of the traffic light, which was red.
When the light turned green, I stepped on the gas and the car did not move.
I knew right away that I had blown the transmission. Maybe it was from driving the car at a constant speed of 45 mph on the highway, maybe it was a problem that was already brewing. Who knows? All I know is that I don't want to spend another $2000 to repair the car's transmission. The car is worth - perhaps - $750, why should I spend another $2000 on it, especially since I've been spending $2000 a year - easy - on the car since 2007.
Now I've got another set of problems. Would a car dealership accept the car as trade-in even though it is not running and the transmission has to be fixed? Will the charity organizations accept it as a tax-deductible donation? Failing all that, will the auto wreckers accept the car?
The nightmare has not ended. It, like in the movie "Inception" is a nightmare within a nightmare.
