I was booted deftly into adulthood sometime in the last two weeks. And my god, it came with a hefty price tag!
I inherited a car from my grandmother when she passed away in September 2007 – her precious Dinky. He’s a sexy, green little Opel Corsa Lite. He’s also, apparently, really expensive to maintain!
It’s taken my grandmother’s lawyers literally a year and a half to send me the papers so I could reregister the car in my name. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of this experience, it involves ensuring your car is in roadworthy condition.
So off I went to take my Dinky in for his service. I expected an oil change and a quick exhaust repair. Not so. I had my exhaust repaired in Harrismith in early 2008 – and it turned out they botched the job so much so that I had to have the whole exhaust repaired. R2000 out the window.
Not to be outdone, my shocks sought their fifteen minutes of fame and gave out – to add to my already large bill. Oh, plus your standard service charges. R4650 down – thankfully I was approved for R4500 credit.
Oh well, I thought, that’s about it. So off I went to Wynberg for what I thought would be one times roadworthiness test and a stack of papers to fill out.
Don’t laugh, I genuinely believed that.
So bright and early on my Monday off (I get off Sundays and Mondays – it’s a sports thing) I went out to Wynberg. And stood in a queue, to be told my lawyers needed to fax through a letter stating that my grandmother had, in fact, left the car to me. Fair enough. My mom took over that duty, and in five minutes (my mother is a very persuasive woman when she’s angry) a terse letter was faxed throught.
Back in the queue. To be told I was supposed to go through roadworthiness first. But please pay us the R355 now, and we’ll keep your paperwork right here. Okay.
I trundled off next door, to be told I had to be R250 upfront to do my test. I was quite happy to do so – believing my beautiful car would sail through. Alas, I was wrong.
Apparently a little crack in my windscreen is enough for them to fail me. Thanks for playing, you can’t register your car until you get that fixed. Sucks to be you. Oh, and your front headlamp is loose.
So I had a level 5 meltdown. Don’t judge me – remember I’m already over R5000 down. And found a windscreen repair place to be told, nope, sorry you have to replace your whole windscreen.
Fortunately the gentleman at the counter saw that I was almost out of my mind, and worked as quickly as he could. Then opened up his palm for my money.
By this time it’s 15:15, and the licensing department closes at 15:30. So I race back to the roadworthy testing center, for them to fart around until 15:45, tell me that okay fine they’d pass me but I still HAVE to have the front headlamp fixed, and send me on my way with an official certificate.
Flash forward to Tuesday morning. Like a bat out of hell I tear out to the licensing place, having only an hour to spare before work. To stand in a queue. Well, three queues, seeing as Capetonians are not very bright before their morning skinny latte from Vida. The lady in the front organised us into a queue (nothing funnier than an angry traffic official) and I was wedged between Biker Bob who kept sneaking surreptious glances at my cleavage, and some guy who smelt like the ass-end of a brewery.
Friendly Guy at Counter remembered me, and printed out my card and handed it to me – then sent me around the corner for new numberplates.
As far back as I remember, Dinky was NKR 5026. No longer. Now he is a certified Cape Town car. So they expected me to fork out over R100 – but sorry, we don’t have a card machine. Go up the road, you’ll find the atm.
To fully appreciate this, I shall tell you what I was wearing. I bought myself a long-sleeved, knee-length black dress. It’s very feminine, very floaty, and has a silk ribbon that you tie around at the back. I was wearing pretty black high-heeled shoes, and had spent ages that morning making sure my hair was just perfect.
I parked as close to the ATM as I could – which was about 250m away. Noticing that I was now perilously near to 9am, I sprinted down the road, my high-heeled shoes clacking, my hair tangling in the wind, my silk ribbon untying itself and trailing behind me.
I made it to work at 9.15 am.
Anyway, now that I have explained my story, I come to my rant. The fact of the matter is that I spent a HELL of a lot of money to get my car legally registered. It’s no wonder there are so many unroadworthy cars on the road – and so many accidents because of it! No wonder taxi drivers wait until their vehicles are no longer running before seeking repairs – and ignore trivial things such as fixing broken windows or reattaching steering wheels.
It is extremely expensive to reregister your car – even if you don’t need to repair chunks of it. And it’s something you have to do. No questions asked.
So it’s going to be a long month. Donations are very much welcome, in the form of food and petrol, and maybe even pre-paid electricity.
