Life got in the way of blogging. Again.

So, I went to the police that Monday morning to lodge my complaint about Stupid Boy on moped driving into my car and then driving off at great speed. At precisely 08.00 o’clock I entered the building. When I arrived at the front desk a rather corpulent police officer with one arm in a sling reluctantly stood up from his desk chair to greet me. “I have an appointment to lodge a complaint”, I said. “Ah yes. You can wait there”, he pointed towards some chairs. So I did. And after about 5 minutes he shouted through the intercom system: “THE EIGHT O’CLOCK IS HERE!”  Well. That was clear to everyone in the building.

Again a couple of minutes later a door opened and a police officer came to collect me from the waiting room. We went into a small office with a desk, a computer, three chairs and the only windows looking out on the central hall where the police keep their copying machines. And let me tell you that they make lots of copies at the police station. All the time I was in there no machine was out of work.

Anyway.

The police officer who was given the important job of putting my complaint into the system, had a sore throat. Man! Did he have a sore throat. Now, I still didn’t have a voice and could only whisper (in fact, I still don’t have a voice, it usually takes about four weeks or more for it to return) so he felt that he had a companion in his suffering I guess, because boy… did he have an aching gullet. He couldn’t even swallow. So first he needed something to drink. Would I like a coffee too? Yes please. And he disappeared to get us some caffeine, because wow… his throat felt like sandpaper. He returned with two plastic cups of coffee and sat down in front of the computer again, clearing his throat with a painful look on his face. Somehow I got the impression that our police force consists of a bunch of handicapped and/or sick people who hang around copying machines a lot of the time.

Anyway.

He typed and typed and typed away to lodge my complaint as accurately as possible.  “Did the car shake?”
“Yes, the car shook.”
About six mouse clicks followed before the next question.
”Can you describe the sound of the bump?”
” Sorry?”
”The sound of the collision. Was it a thump or …”
“It was a muffled bump I guess.”
He typed and clicked frantically.
”And then he drove off?”
“No, he stopped next to the car. I could see him through the window on the passenger’s side.”
”…..window passenger’s side….”
Again about six mouse clicks…
”And then he drove off?”
“No, I got out of the car, walked over to him and then he said sorry.”
”…said sorry…”, he typed and clicked.
”Oh hell, stupid machine!”
”Sorry?”
”Oh this stupid computer. This is the only one in the entire office that does this. I’ve entered lots of information already and now it is lost. It always does that. Stupid thing! I hate this computer!”
”Oh. Okay. So now I have to tell you everything again?”
”Yes. I’m afraid so.”
”Gosh. You know, while you were typing away there I was reading that poster mounted on the wall behind you that says that from the beginning of 2011 the police uses a new, more efficient computer system for better communication internally, and with other services.”
“Yes. Well. I’m afraid it is not as successful yet as they say on that poster. Debugging phase I guess.”
”Hmm. I don’t want to discourage you”, I said, “but I’m sure that by the time the new system works as efficiently as they promise, they…”
”switch over to a different system again”, he sighed with me. “I know. And also (he was obviously happy to have someone to listen to his complaints)… have you noticed how many mouse clicks this system needs? Have you? It is ridiculous!”
”Yes, I was thinking that you could develop RSI with all that clicking.”
”I think I already have”, he looked at his wrist. “Many of my colleagues have.”

I almost felt a bit sorry for poor soar throated, RSI wristed and frustrated police officer.

Anyway.

After about an hour he had finally typed my complaint and it came out of the printer. I read and signed it.
“What will you do?”, I asked.
”We will pay him a visit and he’ll get a fine. And your insurance company will contact us for his details.”

So Stupid Boy has had a nasty surprise visit from the police and his insurance company and mine have exchanged details, so now I can get the damage repaired. And that was that.

If only my voice would find its way to my mouth again *sigh*.