Work! It's the thing most of us have to do, some of us like to do and many of us would rather not do, and it's no surprise that it's the subject of so much TV.

Workplace comedy has been responsible for some of television's greatest series — "Taxi," "Barney Miller," "NewsRadio," "Parks and Recreation," "30 Rock," "The Office," obviously, "Abbott Elementary," just off the top of my head — and some of its shortest lived. Anywhere a job gets done can theoretically support one — pick a workplace (sushi bar, travel agency, magic shop, museum, whatever), write a pitch, get an agent and, presto, you're a TV writer. You can put the characters in later.

Okay — it's not quite that easy. But there is a common Mad Libs structure to such series, whether filmed before a live audience or single camera, placing a variety pack of individuals into a shared space. Some characters might be related; there may be romantic attraction between a couple. Not much actual work will get done, and what gets done may make no real-world sense, but the office is the box that holds them and colors their lives. "The Paper," "Animal Control," "St. Denis Medical," "Going Dutch" and "Shifting Gears" are among those currently airing and streaming and, minor stylistic variation notwithstanding, they have more in common than not.

Of all the offices a person might be required to visit, the Department of Motor Vehicles, with its purgatorial air, has one of the worst reputations. It's a safe bet that, sitting there waiting for your number to be called, you never thought, "I would really love to work here," but this being Hollywood, you may have thought, "There's a show in this."

Indeed, the most surprising thing about "DMV," a single-camera, non-mockumentary sitcom premiering Monday on CBS, is that it took so long to arrive. Created by Dana Klein (and inspired by Katherine Heiny's short story "Chicken-Flavored And Lemon-Scented"), it's a representative example of its kind, not bad, not exceptional, a platform for some good actors to do their work. Its perfect averageness makes it easy to dismiss, but it's a painless, pleasant half-hour, with a smattering of genuine laughs. And like every such show, it can be expected to ripen with age, if age comes.

Harriet Dyer plays Colette, sweet and awkward and nominally the ensemble's main character. A driving examiner, she has the nickname "E-Z Pass," because she never flunks an applicant. She has a crush-at-first-sight on new hire Noa (Alex Tarrant), a charming, cheery hunk/lunk from Down Under. Manager Barbara (Molly Kearney) loves her job "and every single person who works here"; Vic (Tony Cavalero) is the series' inexplicable oddball, intense, pumped-up; Ceci (Gigi Zumbado) is the staff photographer, who in her mind is shooting for Vogue. Finally there's Tim Meadows, as Gregg, whose patented deadpan I have found a highlight of every show he's ever landed in. Both as actor and character — jaded, cynical, satisfied — he's the series' sane old pro, who will instruct Noa in the art of taking a cigarette break without a cigarette.

Situations are classic. Cost-cutting consultants arrive to interview the employees ("I requested time off because my mama passed away, but was denied," says Vic, "and it's happened twice") and decide whether the branch will live. (There are four Hollywood branches in this alternative universe — as if.) Colette gives Noa, who needs an American license, his driving test, and he's terrible. It's a very hot day and none of the employees are allowed to touch the air conditioning. In a variant of a situation that has likely appeared in two out of every three sitcoms ever produced, an old friend of Colette's, now a TV star, shows up at the branch; Colette tells elaborate lies about having followed her own dream of becoming a veterinarian, compounded by the "assistance" of a wig-wearing Vic as her husband. Of course, a dog will become sick. There will be pranks.

"What we do here makes a difference," Barbara tells the consultants in an inspirational speech, making the point that "DMV" is not out to denigrate the institution or the people who work there. However bored the person helping you at the window may seem, or if they're disinclined to return your cheery hello, that person in line before you may have been a jerk. Remember that when your license expires.

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