Auto

Inspection Havoc In the Merrimack Valley or Corruption and crazy house in the Auto Inspection Industry         On the by and bywardnoon of 4/23/01, I decided that I would go and get my dads bargon-ass railroad car, an 89 Caravan, inspected so that we would not be arrested for impulsive it. You are usually given 7 days after the registration of a saucy car to get it inspected, after that they can your ass. So, it beingness ab come forward 3:30 in the afternoon, I decide to head up the street where I stir had good luck doing this before. Now, this car had not more everywhere been startfitted with a new set of tires, eve though I was planning to do that after my dad make sure that the car wasnt a lemon. My dad had warned me not to swear anything about it unless they asked, since they could just fail the car and then we would engage to pay twice. I should also note that my dad was overdue to leave on a trip to England for two weeks the adjacent day, and unless I got that car inspected, he was going to take my tatty little Saab and leave that parked in the airport pose lot. This, of course, was an unacceptable outcome, so I decided that this car WAS acquiring inspected hell or high water.

        So, I head out on my merry way, to the inspection station. I drive in, and the zany comes out, asks for registration. I give it to him, and he harvest-festival to look the car over. First thing he does is point to the tires. You need new tires. This car pass on fail inspection. I reply that I planned on doing this as soon as we compulsive the car wasnt a lemon. No dice. When I started to politely protest, he tells me to beat it. OK, now Im getting aggravated. However, there was still other inspection station up the street. I go there, and meet that the goof couldnt care less about the tires, but his utensil is broken. Come sticker tomorrow. I cant do this, so plot of ground thinking of what the hell Im going to do, I go to the savings bank to cash some checks.

        I head on over to the bad part of Lowell, where there are all sorts of junkyards and stuff. I find an inspection station, but they have already closed, even though it was only about 4:10. So I start driving out past the Lowell Cinemas, and head out to Chelmsford. I drive and drive, and finally find an inspection station.

As I straits up, I see some guy inside, talking on the peal. As I wait for him to finish, the biggest roll in the hay Rottweiler I have ever seen comes trotting around the corner. Now, I dont sincerely like dogs, but I am by no means scared of them. But this thing was the size of a fucking tank. It easily weighted a hundred pounds if it weighed an ounce. So it looks at me quizzically for a few seconds, and then proceeds to start licking my hands and my crotch. Meanwhile, the guy gets off the phone and asks me what I want. His shop helper comes up in beat to listen to my tales of woe. During this time, the huge-ass dog is busily trying to lick my collect out of my pants and let me tell you, there are few things harder to do then try and look placid while talking to men you instantly feel small around, because they know everything about cars, all the while having your crotch moistened by the saliva of an eager, 100 pound dog with a predilection of teeth. I am quickly (thank god, since my jeans were soaked through and I was starting to feel damp around the dong) informed that they will NOT, under any circumstances inspect my car that day, and plausibly not the next either. I lost no upsurge booking it for my uninspected car, followed by my new fri discontinue, who, as I draw up this, is probably chewing some sheet steel or bolts somewhere.

Totally pissed off now, I head back to Lowell, and go to one last place. As I walk into the service station, I was confronted by an ugly, flea-bitten, knife slashed being whom I can only describe as a wet-back from Mexico. This fellow evidently was not long gone from the homeland, as he barely spoke 2 words of English. He directed me to his boss, who flat out refused to inspect my car, as he had 2 more to do, and he wanted to get on home. At this point I suggested that I could make it in his best interests to inspect my car and give me a sticker. He suggested that I wait to the side. I waited for 45 minutes, during which I seek conversation with the wet-back and his equally ugly women sidekick.

Finally, I was attended to by the degenerate running the place. He inspected my car and proclaimed that I needed a new reverse light and new wiper blades. Since I intended to bribe him anyway, I told him he could go screw himself with the wiper blades but I would take on to paying $8 for a new reverse indicator light. This he repaired, taking all of 25 seconds to do so. I paid his exorbitant fee, plus a $10 tinge which he requested before putting on the sticker. I complied, feeling lucky to have gotten inspected, being late as it was. On my way out, I extracted some small behavior of revenge by gunning my engine while the front end was pointed at his wet-back, who fled, probably thinking I was one of the federales, or perhaps a common madman who hated Mexicans. So thats my little saga. Thank God I have a good long while before I have to get the car inspected again!

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