When I first ordered the streaming service Netflix, I did so because there were certain television shows that I was hoping to see. Shows that were on network or cable television that I wanted to watch on my own schedule. Some of them were on the service, and some of them were not. I enjoyed the service and the reason I got it. I was a satisfied customer.

It seemed that the streaming industry began to produce their own original content. A few shows and movies here and there that were exclusive to the service. Hulu, Netflix and Amazon Prime all started this. All of a sudden, there were less and less network content and more and more original content. With the way we consume media, it seemed like a good move for the streaming services to offer original content.

Everything they began marketing to me was original and not even remotely related to something I had watched. Example, “Since you watched Burn Notice, we thought you might enjoy Orange is the New Black”. It became less about your watching habits and more about promoting their shows. I was getting frustrated with the whole thing and considered canceling their service.

Something happened that changed my mind. The services got a few right. I started trying some of their original content, and I enjoyed it. The writing and acting on the shows were not bad, the story was intriguing, and the production value was the same as network. They even took shows from traditional media and moved them to the streaming services, giving good shows that didn’t make it longevity.

I was hooked. I now have two of the main streaming services, and I watch almost as much original content as I do network shows. Shows like “The Good Cop” (Netflix) and “Jack Ryan” (Amazon Prime) were very entertaining. After all of my complaining in the beginning of the original content, I was now a consumer of it.

As I ponder why I am now enjoying content that I did not want in the beginning, I found that it goes back to me. I don’t like change or new things. I listen to old music. I watch old movies. I wanted to watch old television shows. I guess it is a flaw of being old and set in my ways. So this is me branching out and enjoying something new. And I actually like it.

So what are some of your favorite Netflix/Amazon Prime/Hulu shows? Asking for a friend. Let me know in the comment section down below, or on Facebook or Twitter.

The following story may or may not be based on a real life event that happened to me.

Thanksgiving break had come, and it was a week to celebrate and enjoy some time with family. My kids and I had a week away from school and a few things to do during that week. One of those things was to get a drivers permit for my 15 year old.

I must admit, I was not looking forward to introducing my child to a government agency that works, well, the way a government agency works. I was aware that it was going to be a long day when we finally decided to go and get the drivers permit. That day came on that Tuesday. We were doing the parent taught drivers education, and the child had already finished the written part of the curriculum. All we had to do was bring several pieces of paperwork and the child had to take a test.

I remember pulling up, both children in tow. I was thinking that maybe, just maybe this wouldn’t take as long as I remembered. I was wrong. I knew I would be wrong, but a man can hope.

The three of us went inside and looked around at the fifty or so people sitting in the waiting area, hoping that their number would be called soon. We walked over to a kiosk and my child got a number. Then we picked up the appropriate form to fill out while we waited.

There was no way that the three of us would be able to sit together, so the two kids sat together and I sat next to these two gentlemen who were very obviously not from around these parts. They also appeared to enjoy the type of activities that would leave you skinny and missing a few teeth.

The gentleman to my right informed me they had been waiting for a little over an hour, and hoped he would be called up soon. His friend grunted a second to that statement. I looked around the room and saw little to no hope on anyone’s faces. This did not bode well.

Numbers were called and the herd started to thin, but of course more people came in to replace the ones that either got what they came for or were turned away. The man next to me was looking at his phone. He didn’t appear to be very tech savvy, as he was having trouble getting to “the part that did texts”, as he called it. His friend informed him that he was going to go outside, he had to call someone. They were going to be late for an appointment. I didn’t ask.

After another three to five minutes (time slows down while you are in the DPS office, I assure you), the second man, leaving all of his personal information sitting on his chair, joined his friend outside. Apparently it takes two to make the phone call. Either that or they needed a smoke break.

“Now serving A-345, A-345 at window 9” the automated voice on the television screen said. I looked over at the mans folder, and on top of it sat ticked A-345. I considered going outside to try and alert him, but in very unusual fashion, a worker who came out and called for them one last time dismissed the number rather quickly. They had lost their chance.

Three to five minutes later (again, can’t be accurate about time in there), Both men came back in. I told them that they number had been called while they were outside. They both ran up to the window, only to be informed that they would have to get another ticket and wait their turn. Most likely it would be another hour and a half before they were seen again.

Finally, there was room for me and my two children to sit together, so they moved over by me. “This is fun” I stated. My children did not seem amused. We waited, then we waited, then we waited some more. Minutes turned into hours, hours into days, days into weeks (I may be adding some flourish for storytelling purposes). Finally, we got within two of our number. I could feel the excitement building. We had almost made it. I believe the gentleman next to me was asleep.

I checked and double checked my child’s form, making sure it was all filled out. It was. The decision to check it again was purely made out of boredom, not necessity. After what felt like another few hours, her number was called. It was finally time.

We walked up to the window where an angry looking woman in her mid to late fifties asked me what I wanted. I informed her that my child needed to get their permit. She asked to see the child’s social security card and birth certificate.

I gave her both documents. She looked at them, studying the birth certificate. “This is not a valid birth certificate” she informed me. I wasn’t sure what to say to that. It was a Texas birth certificate. I was a special one called a Heirloom certificate, but it was in fact valid. I informed the woman that it was valid when we got the child’s social security card and to enter into a public learning institution. She answered “I have worked here a long time and I have never seen one like this, so I know it is not valid.”

Frustration mounting, I smiled, hoping she would change her mind. She asked me for the proof of drivers educstion. I realized that I had forgotten to print that out and bring it. I had also forgotten a form from her school. This was not going to end well.

The grumpy woman gave me a brochure on everything I needed to bring next time I attempted to obtain a permit for my child again. She them dismissed us to be on our way.

All in all, we wasted over two hours of our lives not getting the child a permit, and we were all a little grumpy and disappointed. I knew that I had messed up, but at least we knew what we needed for the second go around. We left defeated, but hopeful that we could get it done on the second go around. I think those two guys were still sitting there when we left.