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MANY of you have been sending cards, flowers and even boxes of African spitting scorpions in the wake of the brutal murder of my beloved Hyundai. It wasn't. How else could I have known it was on its last legs if not through a dream? After all, I only recently learnt how to open the bonnet. Having been repeatedly dropped on my head as a child, I accepted. To cut a long journey short, the engine blew up before I had even reached the N2. An industry specialist (not a relative) subsequently found that if the garage had done its job properly, this tragedy could have been averted. Never underestimate the power of denial. I didden do it. RMI concluded: "It is also the opinion of this office that the customer was blissfully aware that the engine of the vehicle in question was coming to the end of its serviceable life and through devious designs are attempting to economically enrich themselves by receiving repairs at the expense of the dealer. Curses! Foiled again! Outwitted by our very own Inspector Clouseau, I have no choice but to hang my head in shame and admit everything. Here, then, is my confession in full. It was on a Tuesday morning in late February that I awoke in a state of blissful awareness. My car was running fine until I took it to the garage, whereupon the poor bastard suffered some kind of massive mechanical heart attack within minutes of being serviced. Swollen pistons nudged up against head gaskets worn out from being blown. This was an engine begging for a damn good seeing to. The back of my neck prickled with sweat and, knees trembling, I had to turn away for fear of losing control. The RMI man suggests my car had a pre-existing condition and that the garage is not to blame. A couple of weeks ago, the people who killed my car - through acts of omission instead of commission - visited the corpse. Now I know in certain circles it is considered impolite, if not imprudent, to speak in the media of matters which loiter in the dark and dangerous alleys leading to litigation, but I am a simple man and I cannot help myself. Many of our citizens continue to follow his example. And so began the deplorable process of making members of the legal fraternity even wealthier. As for the rest of his brilliant summation, the RMI man nailed me good. Or low. First, I had to find a garage that would be so negligent in servicing the vehicle that they would completely fail to notice that anything was seriously amiss. Not these ones, though. My nefarious plan was working. This is where it all went pear-shaped. Have a nice trip, they said. For those with benzodiazepine addictions, let me refresh your impaired memory. Two months ago I took my car to the tyre experts in Fish Hoek to have its wheels balanced ahead of an urgent trip to Durban. |
Sunday, 13 May 2012
All hot and bothered
