The Ackermans

The Ackermans

Friday, October 23, 2009

We have an annual insurance that we have to purchase for each vehicle that we have. Actually we simply view it as more of a tax for driving than anything like insurance. If and when I have had an accident in the past and would report it to the insurance office they were nice enough to look at the damage to my car, told me they would be in contact with me but I never heard from them. I guess I never expected to hear from them. You see, it is simply a tax.

The main problem with this little tax isn't having to pay the tax but rather the time and hassle it takes to get it done. First of all you have to find a place to park and take your papers into the building and give the car ID and old insurance papers to someone there who will then give you a paper in return. It has questions all about the car that is to be filled out by the inspector downstairs.

So the next move is to drive the car into a line and then into the basement of the building that I had just walked out of. After a long wait in line you (I) was to raise the hood so the workers filled out the papers with all the numbers, colors, license plate numbers, and number of rocks in the tire tread. Finally after this fun was completed you again try to find a parking place and take the "golden" paper into the building and wait the decision to see if we would be allowed to pay the costs. In my case they came out and advised me that the color was wrong. How could the color be wrong? Their own inspectors filled it out! They pointed out that the color written on the paper was beige. Well that is the color of the car! No, it's Champagne. For cryin stinkin out loud! So I again went downstairs and luckily the inspector wasn't at lunch so he changed the color to Champagne and all was now legal.

I did go in for the inspection a couple years ago and since the engine had a little dirt on it's numbers the inspector took this dirty, ugly rag from the ground and proceeded to dip it in my brake fluid well so he could wipe the mud off. I wanted to kill him. (This is my Christian missionary side coming out at this time. Actually the Christian part was that I didn't.

And so, after this fun I waited about 45 more minutes and paid about $150 to people who never had the right change and left. End of story. There are just days like this.

I know, it's my fault. I chose to live here.

And so it goes.