Death scratched his head and looked down at his disheveled robes. He tried a smile, but it was too difficult as he'd been standing in line for three hours and was still receiving no help whatsoever.
"You'll have to show proof of ownership of your broomstick, sir, before you can take the test. Also, you'll have to fill out a few simple forms," instructed the short redhead. She reached under the counter and produced a pile of papers that were thicker than a dictionary. "You'll have to fill these out in ink, please," she said.
"First of all, I don't own a broomstick. I own a horse. Secondly, you only have bloomin' pencils." Death screeched. Granny Voggle stood behind him in line, and she felt quite sorry for him. She wiggled her fingers and magically turned the pencil on the counter into a plume. Death sighed. He nodded at Granny. She smiled.
"Can I please see your supervisor?" Death begged.
"I'm the supervisor," the woman said sharply, and Death began to weep openly.
"Sir, you'll have to step out of line, please, your broomstick just crapped on our floor. Clean it up, or it's a $5000 fine." the woman snapped.
"It's a horse," Death wailed, "A horse!" His skeletal hands slowly tore the rim off of his new hat. He was shaking.
"Sir. Please don't make me call security. Step out of line please." the woman snapped.
"Fair enough," Granny said and walked the half a mile to the back of the line.
"It does not!" the woman shouted and turned the sign around. She gawked at the new message. She yelped, "Please fill out these forms and then make an appointment." She handed Granny a huge pile of forms.
"These is in another language! These is all written in troll." Granny yelped as the woman left the counter.
It took several minutes to set a good cauldron and change the language on the forms to common tongue. But Ratchet managed to do it quickly enough to escape Granny's newfound wrath.
"Then why in blazes am I fillin' these out?" Granny yelped angrily.
The next day, Granny waited in line for five hours. She was stuck arguing with an idiot of a man behind the counter.
"I'm sorry, Miss. There's nothing I can do. You look nothing like the photo on the birth record. Your picture on your license doesn't match!" the man screeched.
"Of course it don't. That was 105 years ago. I don't wear a nappy now either!" Granny growled.
"I can't push you through under the circumstances. You'll have to come back with other proofs of address and other legal documents first!" the balding idiot argued.
"What kind then? What papers do I need to appease you, you...gnarled up, flubbing, simpleton of a man?" Granny Voggle shouted.
Five days later, documents sorted, Granny waited in line for the eye test. She really couldn't see all that well, but she wasn't about to admit that. Her eyes had aged and time had not been kind to them. Also she'd forgotten her reading glasses. She tried her best just the same.
"And now?" the woman asked pointing to the bottom line.
"Lots of tiny letters," Granny responded.
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