The Real ID and the 90-Day DMV Hunger Games: A True NC Saga


So I decided to get a Real ID. Let me rephrase that, I Got a job that's going to require me to have it.

You know, the “federally approved identification” that will allegedly allow you to board airplanes, enter federal buildings, and, I assume, transcend into the next realm of adulthood.

I figured I’d knock it out one random Tuesday, sandwich it between errands and a very confident iced coffee.

How naive I was.

I drove past my local, very small DMV and saw a line that looked like they were giving away free barbeque plates, I slowed down, looked over and was like nope, I'll make an appointment

 The Appointment Search That Broke Me

Like any functioning adult in the year of our bureaucratic overlords 2025, I went online to schedule an appointment. You’d think the DMV would want this to be a smooth process—get people in and out, Real ID-ed and respectful.

Ha.

I entered my zip code.
The screen blinked.
The results loaded.
“No available appointments within 100 miles in the next 90 days.”

Ninety. . Days.

That’s nearly an entire quarter of a year. I could learn a language in that time. I could grow a beard that would legally qualify for its own photo ID. I could get married, divorced, and emotionally recover—twice.

I expanded the radius. Nothing.
I checked the next month. Still nothing.
I clicked around like a feral squirrel trying to find DMV availability in 17 North Carolina counties before realizing:
I was going to have to go rogue.

 The Great Line Sit of 2025

I picked a day. A real, actual calendar day where nothing else would happen. I packed snacks like I was going camping. Water bottle, portable charger, existential dread.

I got there before 7 a.m.

There Was no parking and signs warning to not park anywhere  

The line was already around the building.

It had an energy. A shared trauma kind of vibe.
People with folders. People with clipboards. One guy had a full-on laptop and a lawn chair like this was a tailgate for federal documentation.

The line moved slowly. Like DMV employees were personally hand-stitching each Real ID using tiny government needles. Every time the door opened and they let in a small group, the crowd sighed with collective jealousy and regret.

Someone brought donuts. A woman handed out forms like we were storm survivors. A man behind me was loudly explaining the difference between a Real ID and a passport like he was auditioning to teach community college civics.

And yet… we stayed.
Because we had come this far.
Because giving up meant starting over.
Because I needed that little gold star like my future flights depended on it (they do).

Hours passed. I learned my neighbor’s dog’s name. I saw someone weep when they realized they didn’t have two proofs of address. Time lost all meaning.

 The Golden Moment

Finally—finally—they called us in. Like we’d been chosen. Like we’d made it to the last round of an administrative reality show called “So You Think You Can Prove Residency.”

Inside, it was surreal. Quiet. Air-conditioned. I swear I heard a harp.

The process itself?
Five minutes.
They scanned my stuff, took a photo where I look like I’ve just seen the ghost of my former appointment system, and that was that.

I walked out holding a receipt like it was a birth certificate.

Final Thoughts:

Getting a Real ID in North Carolina is less of a chore and more of a quest. You will learn patience. You will experience weather. You will bond with strangers in a way only shared bureaucratic misery can provide.

But one day, you too may emerge, blinking in the daylight, holding that sacred slip of paper, ready to fly... in exactly 10-15 business days.

And to that I say: worth it.
Mostly.

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