Letters to my grandchildren (12)

Dear Chilliwops,

Today I will to tell you of a recent humorous experience that also serves as a message about two things. I am sure you will deduce them yourself as you read my missive.

I had been invited to lunch with an old friend and since Nanna was away and I had the chance to watch two grandsons competing in their interschool sports on the same day I arranged motel accommodation in the city.

Early morning in the motel car park I noticed something different. Then it jumped out at me. Someone had stolen my rear number plate; I hastened to check the front and that plate had also gone. Gone, front and back! Thoughts flashed through my mind: They may have been used in the commission of a crime, a robbery perhaps. Or maybe someone now has them stuck to the wall in their games room bar, exhibiting a prize.

At the motel reception I announced to the check out man, “My number plates have been stolen, right here in your car park.”

He looked aghast. In our car park? “We have a video security system in the car park, sir. We’ll check that.”

He kindly turned the computer screen so I could see the perpetrators of this dastardly crime for myself. Camera one revealed nothing as a massive truck, contiguously parked, blocked the scene. Camera two – there they are, got ‘em.

By now several motel staff had gathered around to view the scene of the crime. One announced, “It’s a Police car. The coppers took your plates at 7:25 last night! I’ll call them for you.”

He quickly dialed the police communications number. It is a recorded message and after going through the options I chose #4, “You wish to speak to a Police Officer but it is not a matter requiring urgent attention.” Well it is really but I guess they wouldn’t think so.

Whilst on hold I had visions of newspaper headlines: Police Involved in Number Plate Theft Racket. Police Use Stolen Number Plates in Robberies.

“Good morning this is Police Constable …., (name withheld for security reasons, apart from which I cannot remember it) how can I help you?”

After giving my name, “Spelt Clever but pronounced Cleaver,” I informed him, “I am staying at the Great Eastern Motor Lodge and this morning I discovered someone has stolen the number plates from my car.” For a few seconds I let that sink in and then, “But wait for it, this is no ordinary theft. They were stolen by police officers, I have viewed the security video.”

“Err, were there any markings on the police car?”

“Difficult to see because their headlights were shining in the direction of the camera, but they were uniformed officers.”

Whilst I was talking I could hear the Constable’s fingers working overtime at his computer. “They were taken by the local Police, Mr. Clever. There is a recall order from the Transport Department but privacy legislation prevents us knowing the reason. You will have to call them to get that information. It may be your vehicle licence has expired or you have unpaid fines. I am only speculating.”

Constable nameless is very helpful in giving me the Department’s telephone number. In a sullen mood I paid the motel bill and returned to the car where I attempted to make the necessary telephone call. Another recorded message: “Your call could not be connected. This number does not receive calls from a mobile phone.”

Back at the Reception the helpful staff dialed the number and transferred the call to the “house phone.” This time the recorded voice gave me nine options. The last option is to “Press 9 if you wish to hear these options again.” I press 9 (how can I remember which number I need) and listened to the dulcet tone again recite the options until she arrives at 7, which I quickly pressed. A new dial tone ….. waiting, waiting …

Eventually and very pleasantly, “Good morning, how can I help you?”

Hardly a good morning but the pleasant greeting reduced my temperature and lightened my mood. I again proceeded to explain the problem and gave the relevant details.

“It appears your vehicle was not registered sir. In fact the vehicle registration expired on 23 July 2014. There is a three month grace period for payment of registration and then we seek to retrieve the plates.”

“That cannot possibly be right,” I retort. “My wife pays the bills and she is the most efficient person on this planet.”

“I’m sorry sir, but your vehicle is unlicensed and you cannot drive it until you get a temporary permit, attend a Vehicle Inspection Centre, put the car over the pits and buy a new licence. What is your mailing address Mr. Clever?”

I gave the young man our address and he said, “That’s not the address we have on our records.” Therein lies the problem. It is half right – the Department of Transport had recorded the correct Post Office Box number but in the wrong town.

“Clearly it’s the Department’s fault for incorrectly recording our address when the car was bought. You have changed the Post Office Box but not the town. Obviously I will need the permit and sort this out later with your people. Can you please provide the permit details and make an appointment?”

I’m thinking the reference to “your people” will make him feel more important, in charge and therefore more helpful. But he replies, “Sorry sir, we can’t do that. You will need to phone Fines Enforcement for driving an unlicensed vehicle, pay the penalty and call back to make an appointment.

The reception again made the call. Another recorded message. Here we go again. Fewer options this time but the same dial tone and, you guessed it, waiting …. waiting …. I am beginning to think this is a test of resilience. Eventually a pleasant lady took my credit card number, extracted over $200 from my account (I envisage a smile on her face) and told me I can now call the Department of Transport, have the car inspected, pay for a temporary licence, pay the necessary inspection fee and if there are no problems with the vehicle pay for a new licence and third party insurance. I have a feeling she is enjoying this “pay” bit.

I missed out on seeing the boys run in the Interschool sports. In addition to claiming a reimbursement for the Department’s mistake perhaps I should claim damages for disappointment and distress citing Baltic Shipping Company v Dillon [1993].

Dreaming! Back to reality, the reception desk kindly dialed the Transport Department again and transferred it to the “house phone.” I waited, dulcet tones again recited the nine options, and I again pressed 9, listened to the options up to number 8 this time and pressed that number. Waiting ….. waiting …. after yet another interminable wait during which time a recorded message suggested about 50 times that I can deal with most matters on the department’s web site (if only he knew) a new person answered.

“Good morning, how can I help you?” came the standard, pleasantly disarming introduction. It appears these people attended a telephone answering school with the sole purpose of putting as much joy into their voice as possible thereby removing any disharmony from the ensuing conversation. But I have had enough of bureaucracy and rather curtly again explain the situation.

“Yes Mr. Clever, we note you have paid a penalty (not just financially but more about that later – Baltic Shipping) and we can now make an appointment to have your vehicle inspected. Where did you say you are?”

“Great Eastern Motor Lodge!”

“Oh yes, of course, you did say that.” Long pause as the fingers clicked away on the computer. “Okay. The first available appointment at the closest Inspection Centre is 2pm tomorrow.”

“That will be okay if you are happy to pay for my accommodation,” I replied. “As I said, I am from the country so in the alternative you can bump me up the list.”

“Hmm, yes you did say you are from the country. I can book you into another centre at 10am today.”

“I’m on my way. By the way, while you have the appropriate page open on your computer can you please change the town name on the registration details, a rhetorical question.

“It’s not possible sir. You will need to apply in writing. Make sure you are there at 10am. You have a permit to only drive from where you are now to the Inspection Centre but if you want you could drive to watch your grandson play his sport.”

Give me strength. “You just said I can’t be late and I can only drive from here to the Inspection Centre. In any case my grandsons have already had their race.”

“Thank you for calling sir.”

Upon arriving at the Centre I was given forms to complete seeking all the information I had hitherto provided four times. I am invited to take a seat in the waiting area and barely had my bum on the seat when the inspector entered the room and offered my car keys. “All done,” he said. I had been told the inspection would only take 30 minutes because the vehicle had only clocked 55,000 kms. But this completion time is ridiculous – he only had time to walk to the car and back.

At the counter I handed over my credit card and I was immediately relieved of a further $805 (round figures) – Licence fee $446, insurance $265, GST on insurance $26, stamp duty on insurance $29, recording (?) $13, and plate fee $25. On my calculations having driven an unlicensed vehicle for 17 months, I am still well in front. But that’s not the point – the point is the bureaucrats made a mistake.

Handed the new plates I was advised to fit them immediately but alas, there are no screws with which to attach them. The police also took the screws! Reaching under the counter the clerk revealed two different types of screws and announced the cost – $1 each. They even hit me for the screws! I took 4 of each type and promised to return the unused screws.

“Just one last request,” I added as an afterthought. “Since you are on the vehicle registration page on your computer can you please change the town name?”

“No problem. Done.”

There, that wasn’t hard and I didn’t even write a letter.

After fixing the plates and handing over the 4 unused screws I announced, “That will be $4, thank you.” No response. I’m afraid she did not share my sense of humour.

Having been told my old plates will take two weeks to be sent to my town – they are first dispatched to another centre for some inexplicable reason – I telephoned the Police Station holding the plates and asked they be forwarded directly to my town. “Not a problem sir. I shall place them in an envelope and send them today.”

That young man deserves recognition for efficiency. He doesn’t fit in with the bureaucratic model.

Two lessons. Firstly, where there is a will there is a way – bureaucracy can be overcome. Secondly, ensure payments are made on time; it will save a great deal of stress.

Love always,
Your Popple

*Anton Clever is well into his seventh decade … a former teacher, soldier, farm hand, lawyer and businessman (not in that order). He has travelled extensively for business and for international clients. More recently he has started writing … currently a thriller (which will probably not be worthy of publication, he says) and has written but not published a series of “postcards” from various places (specifically, Victoria, Papua New Guinea, France, Saudi Arabia, Serbia, Iran) referring to experiences in those places. He has also written for several magazines on unusual subjects but matters worthy of debate.