The Gubbamint's Lost its Marbles
It was the last day of moving house, I was so exhausted.
The owner of my previous house sold literally everything, including cars and machinery, so I upgraded my 2-door hatchback to their 4WD.
I'm driving along the main drag heading over to pick up the last few boxes and to sign the transfer of ownership for the 4WD, when I hear a police siren behind me. I double-check my speedo...
Right speed...
Maybe they're not hooting at me...
I look around...
Nobody else on the road...
So I pull over. With my eyebrows raised questioningly, I wind down my window as an officer marches up and, rather demanding-like, asks "Who owns this car?!".
It took me moment to answer because, I might have paid for it but technically, I didn't own it yet. I quickly rummage for the receipt and transfer papers...
The officer demands again "It's not a hard question ma'am, who owns this car?!".
I hand over the papers and answer "In about one hour, I will. But right now it belongs to these people".
I begin to explain, but my next sentence is cut off.
"We have reason to believe this car is owned by (such-n-such) biker gang. Get out of the car and stand over there!" the officer points towards his vehicle.
By this stage I'm totally alarmed because I don't have a clue what he's on about, but I obey his order. In my head I'm thinking: But, they're little old church people...
They couldn't possibly be bikers...
Could they?
Another officer is in the police car on the radio and the first officer is rummaging around in the 4WD. Just then, another police car screeches to a halt right in front of the 4WD and four more burly-looking officers jump out.
They set about stripping the 4WD and emptying the contents on the street. The officer on the radio finishes up and says "You're suspended from driving in this state" as he flips his ticket-book open.
Totally stumped, I interject "Well, I've just moved interstate sir, I've never held a license here".
While he's double-checking, I suddenly recall my identity being mixed up with someone else by a state debt agency before, so I let him know. The first officer is now emptying my handbag out on the bonnet of the police car.
"Is there anything in here that might stick me?".
Does he mean needles?
"No sir".
Rummage, rummage...
"So what do we have here then?" he holds up a mini keyring pliers set.
"Ahhh, keyring pliers?".
Is this a trick question? As he's unfolding the other 1cm long tools from the tiny handle he replies "No ma'am , it's a $500 fine. This is a concealed weapon".
Doh! I knew it was a trick question, silly me!
"Do you have anything else to declare?"
Does he mean drugs?
"Well, yes I do, I'm not a biker sir. Look at me, do I look like a biker?". I'm thinking, the people who own the car park it beside the police station every Sunday for church, and they haven't noticed it before?
There's something fishy going on here... no idea what yet, but things are just not adding up. As the other officers finish up searching the 4WD, the first officer tells me "That place you're moving into, the tenant above your apartment is a known drug dealer. We've been watching him for a while".
Great! Just the sort of thing I want to be moving into - possible arrest every time I pull out the driveway. Eventually, they let me go on my way again.
Phew! Glad THAT's over with!
So, a few hours later I'm heading back along the same road...
Last load of boxes in the back... Transfer papers signed... Another siren!
REALLY?!? WHAT NOW?? I wind down the window, looking rather annoyed this time, and before the officer can say a word I blurt out "I know, I know, my car is flagged, such-n-such biker gang used to own it, waddaya want from me this time?".
He holds out a breathaliser unit "Please count to ten ma'am". By the time I reach ten I've calmed down, so I ask "Is this how it's going to be sir? Every time I'm on the road, you guys are going to target me?".
The officer checks the breathaliser meter "No ma'am, your reading is clear, you can go now". A few days later...
It's about 3am...
Exhausted from unpacking the last of my boxes and feeling rather famished...
I jump in the car to hit the 24-hour for a burger...
Next thing, another siren!
REALLY? This is going to get tedious really fast! I wait patiently while the officer approaches my window, wondering what baloney he's going to come up with.
"What are you doing out and about at this hour?" the officer asks. "Ahhh... Well, I'm going to get a burger sir, that is still legal right?" He ducks back to his vehicle for a moment and then returns...
"Did you know you're vehicle is unregistered ma'am?" he asks.
I rummage through my glove compartment "No sir, it's definitely registered, I have the papers right here". He double-checks "Well, it's showing on our system as unregistered, I'm going to have to write you a ticket".
When he's finishes writing me up he orders me to get out of the car.
"You can't drive an unregistered vehicle ma'am, you're going to have to call someone or walk home". I watch the squad car disappear in the distance...
It's now 3.20am...
I'm on a completely deserted unlit road with no walkway...
Stuck between two townships...
Bare feet...
Didn't bring my phone...
Bugger the rego! Safety first...
So I drive straight home again. The next day I find out from the transport department, sure enough, the car isn't registered.
How it happened remains a mystery.
Nobody could dismiss the paperwork I had in my possession, but nobody could explain why the vehicle wasn't registered either. Not even the ombudsman. Since I was forced to start over again with the rego paperwork, I decided to change my plates to stop them from flagging on the police system.
I also signed some forms to have my licence transferred interstate, they said the form would take a few weeks to do a round trip. A couple of weeks later, I'm driving along and *siren*...
Surprise surprise...
Changing my plates didn't work!
There's not too many tricks left in the book, wonder what they come up this time. I wind down my window...
An officer approaches "Our records indicate you're not licensed to drive in this state".
Oh right, there's one they haven't tried before!
"I signed the form for state transfer a few weeks ago, sir. They say it won't be long now".
He double-checks "Well, according to our information you're driving unlicensed. So I'm going to have to write a ticket". Sure enough, I check the next day and records for my license from the previous state show a different expiry date to the card I had in my possession.
How it happened remains, yet another, mystery.
Nobody could provide an explanation and, surprise surprise, the interstate transfer form I signed has mysteriously disappeared too. This went on for a few years, totaling about $10,000 worth of traffic fines.
I was so upset at one stage, I rang the department of transport and told them I'm not happy with their services and informed them I'll be taking my business elsewhere. Of course, there is nowhere else...
So I registered my own business and issued my own license and number plates.
But, to be honest, I didn't put it into practice because I knew I'd just be inviting more unwanted attention by the police, as if I didn't already have enough. Next thing, a letter arrives in my mailbox explaining my license has been cancelled and, if I want to have it reinstated, I will have to obtain a mental health report from my doctor to prove I'm mentally fit to operate a vehicle.
Doh! Didn't see that one comin either! I complied with the directive, but I was only granted a 12 month license.
The following year, same again, I had to obtain a mental report and was only permitted a 12 month license.
By the 3rd year I was fed up so I notified my federal member and, with the comfort of knowing someone else was watching on, I contacted my local member and made a formal complaint.
Not that anyone replied at all. What all this was REALLY about didn't occur to me until, a little while later, as I was passing through security at the airport I was pulled aside for a "random" explosives test.
The plane I was waiting for had been delayed twice and I'd been in and out several times for a smoke and a coffee when I realised, this is the third test in as many hours, there was nothing "random" about it! Everything suddenly fell into place.
This is what happens when you look like a Muslim!
Must suck to actually be one in this country!!
Anyway, by switching my hair-style to dreads with rainbow highlights, I've managed to trade all the previous dramas for licking the drug stick instead.
The other day, I was waiting outside the tyre shop when an indigenous chap approached me and asked "Spare a cig, Sista?".
I was like: Yay! I look proppa Australian now!
Best I get used to counting into the breathaliser unit too then, eh?
