My road tax expired this week, necessitating a return to the house of horrors where I spent a lifetime obtaining a driving licence. Delays were expected.
Out of interest, I noted my time of arrival in the car park, 1439. I ambled into the building armed with my blue car log book and the mandatory insurance document, which features a small tear-off strip to be removed when renewing your tax. The room was reasonably quiet. I reckoned I might even be finished before they closed at 1600.
I took a number from the machine that issues numbers and, as if by magic, the same number flashed immediately above counter number 4. I approached the lady behind the counter with some trepidation; where was the eighteen part form I would have to complete? Would she berate me loudly for not being properly prepared?
I handed her the log book and the insurance form. She studied them briefly. Then: “Nine hundred baht please”. Money changed hands; there was a whirring sound as something was printed; then she handed my back my documents and a new tax disc together with a smile.
I was back in my car at 1445. Bet it’s not that quick in Switzerland.
Comments 🔗
2010-02-11| Qon sayslucky bastard
2010-02-11| Jock saysI assume you are referring to the lady behind the counter who only had to put up with him for 6 minutes …
2010-02-11| Savoy Brown saysYou must have turned left instead of right at the door, got caught up in a vortex of the time-space continuum and wound up in bizarro Thailand… Only explanation…