Vehicularly Challenged - Part 1

Trivia question: What is the most important part of a car?

There was a time when I would have said "the engine" or possibly "the steering wheel," but I have had an epiphany. A great truth has been revealed to me. The most important part of a car is the number plates. Don't believe me? Well, consider this: if your car doesn't have number plates then no matter what else it has it will sit, immobile, serving no useful purpose except to store a certain amount of fuel and motor oil.

I learned the importance of number plates when my Saab was reduced from stylish mode of transportation to $80,000 tin can by some thief at the local railway station. I came back from work late one night to discover that some friend of humanity had liberated my number plates. I presume that the perpetrator either intends to use them in the commission of a crime, or is some spotty, disaffected youth who get a kick out of making other people's lives difficult. Either way, although I've always had a fairly liberal preference for offender rehabilitation and restitution, I want this guy's head on a pike outside my house as a warning to others.

I drove home and went straight to bed, too frustrated to function. In the morning, I rode my motorcycle to the station, took the train to work and then called the police to report the theft. This simple theft was actually a rather more complicated crime that crosses state and national borders because I live in one state, let's call it "Old North Scotland" and the car is registered to my father in a different state, let's call it "Elizabeth". Furthermore, my father, the registered owner, is in California, USA.

I told the whole sorry story to the Old North Scotland Police Assistance Line. They issued me with an event number and the cheerful news that it is very illegal to drive the car without plates and the fine is enormous. The police suggested that I contact the traffic authority in Old North Scotland and see if they have temporary plates that they could lend me until new ones are sent up from Elizabeth. I called the traffic authority and sat on hold for 20 minutes only to be informed that there's nothing they could do to help me, and I should contact the Elizabethan traffic authority "Bethroads".

So I called Bethroads and sat on hold for another 30 minutes. I explained the situation to a woman who was not unsympathetic, but was also not competent. She consulted her supervisor, while I sat on hold again. Finally she returned and advised me that I needed to get a signed authority from my father, including details such as his address, my address, the plate number and a whole bunch of other stuff. Once they'd received that, and payment, they would be able to post me some new plates.

How long would it take? Well, 7-10 business days to produce the plates and then a further 7-10 days to post them. I choked. A month? I can't drive the car, or sell the car for a month? The same month in which I need to sell the car, move all my worldly goods into storage and move my cats to the other side of the city? I had a sudden vision of the cat strapped to the back of the motorcycle and practically burst into tears.

I emailed Dad at once and he promptly produced, scanned and emailed the required authority document, which I faxed directly to the number supplied. I followed this immediately (well, after another 35 mins on hold) with another phone call to Bethroads to give them my credit card details so they could process the request as quickly as possible.

The phone was answered by a different woman who was both less sympathetic, and less competent than the first. I explained the whole story again for her benefit and she said "I'm going to need to talk to a supervisor about this."

"No!" I shouted. "A supervisor has already been involved and they said I had to supply the authority, which you now have. It's all there."

The Demon of Bethroads gloated down the phone. "Oh no, you need to include a copy of the police report for the file."

"They don't issue written reports in Old North Scotland. They do it all over the phone and give you an event number as your record. The event number is on the authority. It's in bold."

"We need a copy for the file. I'm sure you understand that."

It was now close to lunchtime and I'd spent the whole day on the phone to various government departments, mostly on hold, only to find out that it was going to cost me close to $100 to not drive or sell the car for a month. Strange as it may seem, I wasn't feeling very understanding. I also work for the largest bureaucracy in the southern hemisphere and even in my department we're capable of making a file note to cover unexpected circumstances. Apparently Bethroads doesn't get a lot of tricky ones.

I insisted that I'd supplied everything the supervisor asked for. Bethroads Bertha put me on hold to track down the same supervisor and returned triumphant. "Call the police back," she suggested. "Ask them to fax you a copy."

I called the Old North Scotland Police back and listened to their hold music for a while. I finally spoke to yet another officer and explained the whole situation over again.

"We don't issue reports." She said, puzzled.

"I know. I explained that, but Bethroads insists. They're living in the dark ages down there, what can I do?"

"Well, I could print a copy of the report for you but there's a $68 fee for that."

I choked on my tongue and took a moment to get it back into the speaking position. "For a piece of paper?"

"We don't issue reports. You have the event number. That's your record."

"I know, but I ..."

Because the Old North Scotland Police are actually quite helpful, she put me on hold (again) while she contacted my local police branch and asked them if there was anything they could do to help. I chewed on a pencil, hoping I would die of lead poisoning before the end of the call. She came back on the line and explained that there was really nothing she could do and suggested that I call Bethroads back, give them her phone number and get them to call her to confirm that the event number is a genuine crime report.

I thanked her and rang Bethroads again. I worked my way again through their numbered menu system. I listened again to their on hold messages. I ate another pencil. Finally, I reached yet another new person. I explained the whole story all over again, supplied the number for the Old North Scotland Police officer and suggested that she call to verify the report. She said "Okay, I'll just put you on hold." I waited .... waited ... waited ... realised that she was probably on hold at the other end ... waited ... ate another pencil. She came back on the line and said "That's fine."

"Great! Let me just give you my credit card details."

"Our accounts deparment will have to give you a call back."

"No! I need to do it now. Honestly I can't wait another minute."

"Please hold."

ARRRGGGHHHHH!

To be continued ...