Author Archive
I want my wheelie
by PG Jonker
I recently posted the story of me and my good pump on the website here. That was, however, not the only travel woes I had on that holiday.
Background
We holiday with a caravan once a year. The first time I saw the caravan it was only a floor on a set of wheels. Acting in faith, my brother-in-law and I bought the caravan, awaiting the builder to restore the caravan to its previous glory. Which he did. Now it’s 9 years later. I have since bought out my brother-in-law. Being rather hasty in nature, it drove him up the wall towing an obstacle along that slows him down as the caravan does.
Spare wheel
As part of the road worthy you need a spare wheel. We got one as part of the deal, but it was clearly only to meet the legal requirement of having to have a spare wheel. Whereas the caravan’s wheels are shod in 165’s, the spare wheel had a 185 tyre on. Apart from being oversize, the tyre was perished; the running surface bulged in all directions. Also, as my brother-in-law found out next to the road one day, the spare wheel did not fit, as the centre hole was too small. That problem was subsequently fixed. But still, my spare tyre was truly an emergency tyre. If I had to use it, it would have caused an emergency.
In spite of my over cautious nature, this did not bother me. Until two days before our departure this December. I suddenly felt this real sense of urgency to have this tyre replaced with a real tyre. So I rushed down to the local tyre guys and got me a new tyre.
On the road again
Two days later we departed. We did so well with our packing that we scored a day. So instead of leaving on Sunday morning, we left on Saturday morning just before seven.
The most stressful part of caravanning for me is getting the caravan out from behind my house. I have very little space. Also, it is downhill. So it takes a concerted effort of the whole family to navigate the caravan out, and also to prevent it from running off on its own. Once hitched, it takes me some 10 minutes to start relaxing as the bakkie’s big six burbles away softly.
Shake, rattle and roll
So I just settled into being comfortable, when there was a loud bang, just about 5km’s before Paarl on the N1 outgoing. In my left mirror I could see bits and pieces of tyre flying around. The left tyre of the caravan had burst.
The caravan behaved nicely. Pretty much like Ruth of the Bible, you know. Where I went, there she went, without protesting or deviating from course.
It was a bad spot. A rail on the left hand side of the road prevented me from pulling off completely, so I did the best I could to pull off as far as possible. It was early Saturday morning, to the traffic was not too hectic, but still, it rattles one if you’re busy working on changing a wheel and you hear the noise of a large truck bearing down on you!
I got out my triangles and jack and set to work. I did not even bother to do the kicking of the tyres-bit as is customary. Firstly, I was in a bit of a hurry, and secondly, I did not want to break my foot; there was little rubber left to kick.
Now, I always wondered how one changes the wheel on a fully lade caravan next to the road. Now I know. With difficulty.
Jack of one trade
Because of a bad experience with my previous vehicle’s jack, the first thing I did after I bought my bakkie in 2001 was to get me a 4-ton hydraulic jack. Now was the first time I got to put it in use. It was still in the plastic, as I bought it.
At first I could not get the jack to move. I fiddled with the mechanics a bit, undid a circlip thinking that might be required, but fortunately, before I could lose it, I realised that doing so would render the jack totally useless. So I put it back. It turned out that just a little bit of violence was needed to overcome the inertia on the jack on its maiden voyage.
Although I try not to overload my caravan, I had the peace of mind that my jack could lift 4 tons. So off I went, pumping my jack.
Surprise! The jack nearly reached its full extension before it started lifting the caravan. So I had to alternate between the jack and the left rear corner steady to lift the caravan. I later had to move the jack to another spot. The slight decline in the road, and the fact that the caravan was in any event running at a bit of an angle to the caravan, assisted in eventually getting it lifted high enough to remove the wheel.
Now I ask you: who designs a 4 ton hydraulic jack that is so short that it would barely reach the underpinnings of an A-class Mercedes! The caravan is somewhat lower than my bakkie, and I could barely make it. I afterwards tried the jack on my bakkie, only to find that it reaches its full extension even before it can start lifting the bakkie! Fortunately, in thirteen years’ time, I never had to use that jack!
On the road again – again
I was pretty nervous to get my rig out of the way, so I wrapped up the job and with my wife rendering sterling assistance, chucked everything back into the bakkie and the caravan’s nose cone. Afterwards, though, it seemed that I was a bit too much in a hurry, as it turned out that I left one of my spanners next to the road. The bakkie’s wheel spanner. Not that it is much of a loss. My spare wheel is an Isuzu rim instead of a Mazda wheel, and the spanner does in any event not work on the Isuzu wheel. I have an extra one.
Half past …
My kingdom for a good pump
Also published on: http://www.4x4community.co.za/forum/showthread.php?t=174334
By PG Jonker
Returning from holiday 2013
A year ago, travelling home after holiday with my bakkie, with my caravan in tow, the engine on two occasions gave a violent jerk. So violently that I thought it best to pull off to see whether the caravan’s brakes might have become stuck in some mysterious way. I walked around the bakkie and the caravan, felt whether the caravan wheels were hot (they were not) and did the mandatory kicking of the wheels. I’m not sure why, but as everyone always does it, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Nothing noticeable happened though. I took it as a good sign.
After that I travelled home without any further problems, putting the jerking down to an extreme headwind. I never really thought of it again, until many months later.
Easter 2013
Easter weekend a friend borrowed my bakkie. He called me from Botrivier and asked whether the bakkie is supposed to lose power and stutter uphill. I advised him that, to my best knowledge, that was not how the manufacturers intended the engine to function. I also suggested that he desist from driving like an asshole and that the matter should then take care of itself.
He did not have any further problems. I just assume that my suggestion was taken seriously. However, I did have the bakkie serviced and had the plugs and all that could have caused the jerking, checked out.
August 2013
Five months later, one stormy night, the bakkie spluttered to a standstill with my son on the N1 just outside Cape Town. He was blissfully unaware of the danger in which he was, sitting in the bakkie at a point where a barrier prevented him from totally pulling off on the right hand side of the road.
Late that night the bakkie and my son were deposited at my front door by a flatbed truck. The engine would swing merrily, but there was no fuel. The fuel pump stopped working.
Pump 1(a)
As the fuel pump is situated in the tank, and as the replacement pump was quoted as R8000, my mechanic of more than a decade decided to rather fit an impeller pump in the fuel line under the bonnet. This pump had a rather annoying whining sound that was audible up to 50km/h. However, as it cost R330 instead of R8000 I was quite happy to live with it.
Yet, the next working day the bakkie died on me inside of the parking garage where I work. My mechanic came and towed me in. He concluded that the dead pump in the tank would not allow fuel through.
Pump 1(b)
So now the tank had to come off in any event. However, as the replacement pump would still cost R8000, I settled for the mechanic’s suggestion that he simply replaces the pump with a spacer. For this purpose he used a fuel filter that incidentally turned out to be an exact fit into the rubber housing from which the pump was removed.
So now I was a happy traveler again.
After three months of uneventful travelling, the pump on a few occasions seemed unable to overcome the vacuum when cold. After fiddling with the line a bit, though, it would start working again. Until the Sunday a week before my departure for the December holiday. Fortunately it died in my back yard. Paaah!
Pump 2
OK, now the impeller pump was replaced by a much sturdier looking diaphragm pump.
The mechanic advised me that the instruction manual to this pump states that, in the unlikely event of fuel starvation, the return pipe from the carburetor to the fuel tank should just be blanked off, and that this should then take care of the fuel starvation problem. However, he never had it before, and he suggested that it should not be necessary.
The bakkie then ran like a charm. We went off on holiday, and it was towing like a dream. Problem solved.
Not so.
Returning from holiday 2014
Upon my return from holiday, once again with my caravan in tow, we encountered a heat wave in Worcester. OK, for the folks living in Worcester it was probably a day just like any other summer’s day, but for ordinary people it was extremely hot. I guess about 40 degrees.
And then, just as I gunned the bakkie over the bridge at the fire brigade, it gave a single violent jerk, and then proceeded in ordinary fashion again.
I immediately had that sinking feeling in my stomach. You know, that “Aaag, nee my ***!”-feeling.
I’m 80km’s from home, I had my family with me, and both my bakkie and my caravan were fully laden.
After a pit stop at the garage we proceeded, but with me now driving with a very even right foot not to elicit any unwanted responses from the engine. Halfway between Worcester and the Rawsonville weigh bridge I felt the engine losing power, and then there would again be a surge in power.
So now what? We’re so close to home. Do we see how far we go and hope we make it back home? It might work out fine. Or then again, it might not. Imagine I get stuck inside the tunnel with my rig. Or before the tunnel, in the searing heat, at a spot without cell phone reception.
We decided to rather play it safe, and pulled in at the Rawsonville weigh bridge.
Believe you me, even under that tree, with a mild wind blowing, it was extremely hot. I’m tempted to give you the uncensored explanation of how hot it really was, but I will desist.
I had a chat with my mechanic on the phone then. He reminded me of the blanking off of the return pipe. However, there was no way that I would attempt even something ostensibly that simple without proper supervision. In any event, my wife told me that, regardless of what I might try, she and the kids will wait at the weigh bridge for alternative transport.
Nou ja, one hour later the road side assistance guys knew where the Rawsonville weigh bridge is. They will tow me in to Worcester, which is the …
Concerto in D
Konsert in Durbanville.
Hierdie week is weer Durbanville Voorbereidingskool se jaarlikse konsert. Een van die hoogtepunte op hul en ons sosiale kalender. En watter hoogtepunt is dit nie!
Little Mermaid is die storie wat hierdie jaar opgevoer word. Ek moet nou bieg, hierdie is een van die Walt Disneys wat ongesiens by my verbygeglip. Ek het dus nie die voordeel van vooraf kennis van die storie gehad nie. Plaas ek IMDB vooraf geraadpleeg het.
Ons kry ons sit redelik naby aan voor. Die décor wat buite die gordyn waarneembaar is, is klaar indrukwekkend.
“Jy’s onder die water,” lig my vrou my in terwyl sy na die décor wys.
“Ek kan voel ja – duidelik die Middeterreense see, eerder as die Atlantiese oseaan,” reken ek, gegewe die temperatuur. Dis nogals half snoesig so met die stoele redelik naby aan mekaar gepak. Teen die tyd wat die gordyne oopgaan het ‘n mamma in die ry voor ons al ‘n geveg gestop tussen haar twee vierjariges en tussen hulle plaasgeneem net om ‘n herhaling daarvan te voorkom.
Dan roffel die tromme, die ligte word gedemp, en die konsert begin met ‘n ontploffing op jou sintuie! Die klank en die massa deelnemers met hul fluerescent kostuums op die verhoog wat die onderwater toneel uitbeeld is fassinerend.
Alles verloop natuurlik nie altyd volgens plan met so ‘n konsert nie. Sommer met die openingstoneel sien ek hier gaan ‘n fout kom. Die mannetjie wat Grimsby speel voel ooglopend nie lekker nie. Klou sy maag vas. Gelukkig is daar mos ‘n elektroniese klankbaan, so die karakters hoef net saam te mimiek. Wat natuurlik maak dat Grimsby darem kan funksioneer. Dan oorweldig Grimsby se naarheid hom en hy storm sommer daar na die verhoog se voorkant toe. Met die elektroniese byklanke besef ek gelukkig betyds dis eintlik deel van die play. Grimsby is veronderstél om seesiek te wees.
Ooglopend word niemand in die skool oorgesien vir ‘n rol nie. ‘n Hele span nonne storm op die verhoog op.
“Dis seevoëls, nie pikkewyne nie,” fluister my vrou in my oor. Ek het dit geweet, natuurlik.
Later is daar groot vrolikheid in koning Triton se onderwater koninkryk. Ek is nie mooi seker wat almal is nie, maar ‘n crowd met sulke bossiekoppe maak hulle verskyning. My vrou reken hulle is eals. Seeslange? Ek twyfel. Maar hierdie was die onbedoelde hoogtepunt van die aand vir my:
In die tweede ry van voor af is daar twee mannetjies met sulke stoutgatgesiggies. Hulle kan ‘n tweeling wees. Ek weet nie of hulle by die script gehou het nie. My raai is dat hulle met hulle eie konsert besig was. Hulle dans, trek vir mekaar gesigte, wys zap signs (darem nou nie van daai soort wat jy suksesvol met een vinger kan doen nie) en geniet hulle absoluut gate uit. Báie snaaks.
Ek bly verstom dat kinders van hierdie ouderdom só kan toneelspeel. Scuttle, die hoof seemeeu, Sebastian, die rooi kreef wat later moet double up as Mermaid se lyfwag, wie se lyftaal dikwels meer moet sê as wat van die ander akteurs met hul woorde uitdruk. Wel, ok, nie heeltemal hulle eie woorde nie, maar close.
Flounder, die klein tropiese vissie, doen by uitstek haar rol gestand deur oortuigende gesigsuitdrukkings. Veral wanneer Ariel verlief raak, en Sebastian die krap erg kratervol is vir dié verwikkeling. [Ek sien daar heers ‘n debat op Google oor watse tipe vissie Flounder is. Ek was nie naastenby die eerste een wie dit ge-Google het nie.]
Die tegnologie wat gebruik word is fenomenaal. Dis lasers en ligte en musiek, blitse, ‘n storm op see, die werke. Tussen scenes glip twee onderwysers gou in die agtergrond op die verhoog en maak die geverfde agtergrond soos groot blaaiborde oop om ‘n nuwe toneelagtergrond te skep.
Die kindertjies wat in die stuk speel is natuurlik nog grootliks hulle eerlike self. Sommiges se ogies blink van genot. Sommige lyk oorweldig. Ander is ‘n toonbleeld van ernstige konsentrasie. Sommiges staar na ‘n denkbeeldige punt agter in die saal terwyl hulle hard konsentreer om hulle passies te doen. Party van hulle kry dit glad nie reg nie. Of dalk was daai dogtertjie veronderstel om telkens in die teenoorgestelde rigting as die ander te dans, wie weet.
Toneel 11 van 14, sê die program, is “Soen die meisie!” So jy weet nou die storie moet nou hier tot ‘n punt gedryf word, want dis die laaste dag, en as die prins nou nie voor sononder ‘n meisie soen nie, dan is dit te laat. Maar dis verbrands of hy die meisie gesoen kry! Dit ten spyte van Sebastiaan die kreef se advies aan Mermaid om haar ooglede te fladder en haar lippe te tuit. Miskien is dit oor tye verander het. Nuwe tegnieke is nou nodig.
Die volgende toneel is die partytjie in die paleis. Sy laaste kans. Maar verdomp, hy soen nog stééds nie die meisie nie, en nou is daar nou nog net twee tonele oor. Die spanning raak nou ondraaglik.
Oeps, ek besef nou net, die konsert se speelvak is nog nie oor nie. Ek gaan nou eers hier moet stop anders gee ek te veel spoilers weg.
Maar genugtig, wat ‘n fenomenale vertoning van talent, tegnologie, kreatiwiteit en uitnemendheid.
Good show DVS.…
Sensitive shopping
These days condoms are freely available in public toilets, company toilets, gyms, corporate facilites and so on. However, there was a time when such items actually had to be bought. I understand there is still a demand for brand name models of these, such as had been insisted upon by aggrieved students of the Durban Tech a few years ago.
Anyway, many years ago I needed to purchase a few of these. I can only assume that I was working on the irrigation system in my garden and that I needed something to secure an open pipe and prevent dirt form entering it. Most probably. Possibly. Maybe. Mos.
So I went down to the nearest Spar. After inspecting all the isles, I could find none. Impossible! I mean, this is such a basic necessity, one would expect a batch thereof at every isle. Eventually I gave up and approached one of the guys packing out stock.
“Do you stock condoms?” I asked.
The packer froze. His mouth opened to say something. He did not say anything. He stared at me. He looked around. Then he slowly put down the carrots he was packing out. He looked behind him. He then gestured something with his hands, and started walking away form me backwards as if I have made an improper proposal to him. I decided that he was indicating to me that he did not know, but that he would make enquiries to ascertain where the sought after items are being stored. Then he disappeared out of sight.
He stayed away a long time. In the meantime I stood around, waiting for him to return to his spot at the carrots and cucumbers. Maybe I should rather have asked the girl at the isle where they stock the painkillers and stuff.
Eventually I saw the guy peering at me from around the corner where he last disappeared. Another head appeared. One of his colleagues. He pointed me out to his colleague. The colleague made big eyes. “Aha! So that’s what someone looks like who asks for condoms in a public place.”
They then disappeared again.
Some more time lapsed. Maybe I should just have gone to the pharmacy which was just next door.
Eventually the two gentlemen came walking around the corner, approaching me. Halfway to me the one came to a dead stop. He pulled on the other guy’s sleeves and held out a packet to him. The other guy vehemently shook his had, turned around and walked off, still shaking his head. The man with the packet in his hands stared at his departing colleague.
Then he sighed, turned around facing me again. Reluctantly he approached me. Slowly. Maybe he had a muscle cramp or something. Then, when he reached me, like a flash he handed met the packet which, up to that point, he held enclosed in both hands. He turned on his heals and briskly walked away. Funny how quickly his muscle cramp disappeared.
“Your carrots are still hieso, nuh?” I called after him, but he ignored me. Maybe he was assigned another job by his supervisor. No wonder it took him so long to get back to me.
By now I was having my doubts about the wisdom of buying condoms from a supermarket, but headed for the cashier nevertheless. Halfway there I realised that this whole spirit of conspiracy have effectively been transferred to me, because I was now also holding the packet enclosed in both hands. I opened my hands to inspect the product. I perused the rather erotic picture on the wrapping.
Just about then I reached the cashier. Too late I realised that this is the only item I had with me. Maybe I should also have bought a broomstick or baby food or something, then the condoms could have gone relatively unnoticed in the transaction. But now it was too late.
The girl behind the counter could not have been a day older than 16. I put the packet in front of her. Instinctively she reached for it to scan it, but her hand froze in mid-air. She giggled, blushed, looked down, and then approached the package as if it was a snake. And with a “take that, you snake container”- attitude she zapped the packet with the scanner without touching it. Where is Darth Vader when you need him!
As I left the shop I peered back over my shoulder. The two packers, together with what appeared to be the full staff complement of the shop, were smiling at me. The one packer gave me the thumbs up.
Funny how hot one can sometimes feel on a cold day.…
l’Agulhas
[Source: Map data ©2014 AfriGIS (Pty) Ltd, Google]
We left Cape Town on a chilly Saturday morning following a cold snap that left the mountains snow capped. It being a long weekend that already started on the Friday, we had the road for ourselves.
The Overberg has a good spread of the ordinary South African’s diet on the farm lands. Wheat, Canola and sheep. Bread, butter and lamb chops close at hand, thus.
From Caledon to Bredasdorp you have these rolling hills. Then, from Bredasdorp to Struisbaai and l’Agulhas you have this totally flat land. Due to recent heavy rains the roads were flooded because of the wetlands in the area.
The Agulhas light house is a very recognisable beacon. Now under construction.
The town itself is a pleasant dorp.
A great many shipwrecks are found in the area.
The hallmark of the town is, apart from the lighthouse, the fact that it is the Southernmost tip of Africa.
In case you miss it:
A boardwalk guides you to the spot.
And wala!
Nature can cause one to be in a reflective mood.
If all fails, and you do get bored, there are, of course, other options.
The end of the weekend saw us heading back to Cape Town. It would seem that everyone has left Cape Town for the weekend. Which meant that everyone had to get back to Cape Town again.
Bumper to bumper traffic on Houwhoek pass and Sir Lowrey’s pass stretches the return trip of 220km’s to 4 hours.
Video clip.
Easter weekend at Gouritsmond – getting there [1]
Part 1 of 3
By PG Jonker
Easter weekend, 22 May 2011
Departure
It feels pretty stress free to depart for Gouritsmond without towing the caravan – as we do over December holidays. This time we rented a house, so no reason to take the mobile house along. The incidental benefit thereof is that there is no rush to get there to start making camp. A leisurely drive is sufficient.
The teenagers depart some time before us. A convoy of three cars full of teenagers will meet each other at the Wynland Engen outgoing, to travel together.
The rest of my outfit follows some half an hour later. Doors locked, windows closed, alarm set, Neighbourhood Watch and neighbours alerted. And off we go.
We travel via Montagu where we need to drop off our second hand bulldog with relatives. Bully is very happy to go along. Once she gets wind of some packing going on, she plants herself underneath the vehicle and refuse to move – until she notices her bed being packed in the back of the bakkie. Even then it takes some planning to catch her. For some odd reason she does not respond like other dogs when se gets called. It never ceases to amaze me that so much stupidity can be concentrated in one dog.
There is a festive atmosphere at the Wynland Engen about 10km’s from home where we need to fill up. Bikers, a convoy of caravanners, taxi’s, you name is.
It is the first of the colder wintry days. In Robertson a restaurant sports the banner: “Dros Welcomes all bikers.” Mmm…. Good thinking, nuh?
As you leave Robertson there is a traffic sign indicating that you may not hitch hike. True to South African nature, this has become the preferred hitch hiking spot.
When we reach Ashton we run into a wild wind.
At Montagu’s Seven-Eleven a lady is merrily licking on her ice cream in freezing wheather.
On the farm the Boerboel and the Jack Russel is very happy to see our bulldog. Especially the Jack Russel. If he was a human, he would have been locked up long ago for being a serial rapist.
New roads
After a good breadfast on the farm we hit the road. Time to try a new road.
From Montagu we travel on the R62 through Barrydale. Some 16 km’s past Barrydale we turn right on the Brandrivier road.
The gravel road is very good. The next notice board makes us feel safe.
Over the next 35 km’s we encounter two other vehicles.
Reaching the tar road again, we turned right, and travel through the Garcia pass into Riversdale.
In Riversdale I get lost in my endeavours to find the N2 (no, really).
Now we hit the heavy traffic. We manage 100km/h, but with a string of vehicles as far as you can see. Fortunately the guys with the caravans were rather accommodating, making way with their rigs for the rest of us to pass.
And then, by 13h10, we arrive at Gouritsmond.
And the really wonderful thing is, I do not have to pitch a campsite for the next five hours! The house is there. The kitchen needs no unpacking. Admittedly, it felt a bit like cheating to drive past the caravan park and not turn in there.
Ag, it feels good.
Part 2 to follow…
Easter Weekend at Gouritsmond – the town [2]
By PG Jonker
Part 2 of 3
Saturday morning my wife and I go for a walk. It’s cold.
“Quiet, nuh?” I reckon. My wife does not bother to comment. However, the next moment the silence is crudely broken by a lady’s voice on a pa system with speakers on a car driving through the town and inviting all and sunder to the church basaar. There must be very few small town churches attempting to have a basaar on an Easter weekend.
In the foreground the grave of the dog Gourits. No, the town is not called after the dog. The dog was called Gourits after the river, and the name of the town.
The shops at Gouritsmond (there are two) remain the core of any commercial activities.
Some of the houses sport rather interesting names.
“Beautiful havens”
Milky way:
Some names are indicative of wisdom learnt from experience.
“Domestic troubles”
Part 3 to follow…
Easter weekend at Gouritsmond – more of the town [3]
By PG Jonker
Part 3 of 3
Church on Easter Sunday.
Gouritsmond is a quiet place. The kind of place where one can move to for the final stretch. OK, except maybe for one more move.
It is a cold weekend, with very few people on the beach.
But, of course, nothing comes in the way of a true fisherman.
There are clear notice boards, even for those who cannot read.
The mouth of the Gourits river looks wild.
A few vasbyters braved the cold in the caravan park. I must say, it was really unpleasantly cold, and could not have been nice in a tent or caravan.
And then, it becomes time to go home.
Fill her up, mate.
…
Me and my cell, aah, me and my cell…..
By PG Jonker
I recently entered into a contract with my mobile service provider for a rather special deal on a smartphone for my daughter. We were extremely impressed with the product. Until the next day. By then we already had to upload R70 to keep the phone running – and that on a R100 per month package.
I made some enquiries and quickly learnt that you cannot realistically run a smartphone on a budget of R100 per month, except if you switch off all the possible applications to be had. Which means that the phone can then actually do LESS than the previous not-so-larnie phone she had on a R100 per month contract?
The product, hence, cannot meet the goal for which it was purchased.
I decided to send a complaint to the service provider through their website. I promptly received an automated response. A week later I sent their automated response back to them asking whether I could expect a more substantive response from them. I promptly received an automated response. It is now two weeks later, and it seems like I have to accept that the automated response is the only response there is going to be.
In the meantime my daughter, who has a bit of IT savvy, managed to get by with the phone, switching off all the data- and airtime gobbling gremlins. She kept a keen watch on the available airtime to monitor how she fares. Then she noticed that every evening at 18h00 an amount of R6 is being deducted from her phone.
Ok, by now I know that the service provider will only send me an automated response should I bother to complain. I need to speak to a real person. So I call their client call centre number.
An automated voice asks me to identify the relevant mobile number, which I do. I don’t know why, because you invariably get asked for the number to which your query relates once you (eventually) reach someone to speak to.
Ok, once past that point, THE VOICE gives me various options. I want to thump the offender’s head against the wall. There is, however, no such option.
The options are, more or less:
- Enquire your free minutes
- Temporarily suspend your service or obtain the PUK number
- Enquire when you may upgrade
- Add or remove service
- Blackberry, 3G or Data Service
- By now I stopped listening, but I think the last one related to recharging.
Mmmm….. so which one of the above comes remotely close to removing the R6 per day subscription? No, I don’t know either, so let’s try the one about removing services. So I hit button 4.
THE VOICE tells me sorry, can’t do that; you first need to have a 5 digit PIN. I want to ask why, because I already have a 4 digit PIN with them. Admittedly, I can’t remember the 4 digit one, but still. But THE VOICE takes no talking back. So I type in a new 5-digit PIN.
No, sayeth THE VOICE, that number is not good. She does not say why. Please try again, she says. I do so. I type in the same number. THE VOICE congratulates and welcomes me to the innermost circle, and that I now have 48 hours of access to the amenities on offer, or words to that effect.
Now THE VOICE again runs the above options past me. I don’t know why, I mos already chose one. Ok, so let’s try number 4 again. At last I’m now part of the inner circle, NOW I’m going to have somebody to speak to.
No.
THE VOICE then tells me I must first register yet something else. By now I realize I’m not going to get along with THE VOICE. I drop the call and walk down to the closest shop for assistance. I need to speak to a human being. You know, someone who actually responds to what I’m saying in a non-automated fashion. At least the shop will be able to assist me.
The shop is closed.
With some colourful thoughts, I go back to my office to try again.
Once again I call the call centre number. I identify the number to which the call relates, listen to the options again. This time I decide, let’s try option 5, maybe “data service” is the thing my query relates to.
THE VOICE then gives me a fresh 5 options. Die *** weet! My colourful thoughts have now converted into colourful words. I close my office door.
I try one of the options on offer. Yet again I run into THE VOICE.
Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out.
After a period of some inaction on my side, THE VOICE invites met to press # to return to the main menu. For lack of any better idea, I press #.
THE VOICE welcomes me and gives me the by new familiar options:
- Enquire your free minutes
- Temporarily suspend your service or obtain the PUK number
- Enquire when you may upgrade
- Add or remove service
- Blackberry, 3G or Data Service
- Recharging your account.
I breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out. By now I would like to bend my cell phone from frustration.
And then, after a longish pause, sort of as an afterthought, THE VOICE informs me that I may press 9 to be put through to an operator. That’s now the real person I’ve been looking for the whole time! I press 9.
Tadaa! An operator answers the phone. And asks me to which number the query relates. Didn’t they listen the first time I punched in that number!?
Then she asks me for my 5 digit PIN. I proudly give her that. I know mos this is my access to the inner circle. Very good, she says. And what is your 4 digit PIN number, she enquires.
?! How many of these things do they want! Fortunately I guessed the 4 digit PIN correctly.
Miss Moodley is very efficient, and advises me that a certain service provider in Johannesburg is the people taking the R6 per day, but on my request she unsubscribes me to the service. She gives me the number of the service provider in Johannesburg.
I call them. The first three numbers I …
Modern cars
A few years ago I bought a (now) 11 years old Mercedes A160.
The first year the EML kept coming on pretty much on a monthly basis, sending me into panic stations every time. See, all the rumors I’ve heard about electronic gismo’s on cars like this left me with the fear of forking out thousands of Rands getting it fixed. Fortunately I have a mechanic who is willing to hook up his computer to the car once a month, try to interpret the fault codes, reset the thing, and not charge me for it.
It also turned out that if you fill the oil to the mark, you will get a buzzer and a light that warns you every now and then that your oil level is too low. But just park at a decline, and the same buzzer and light comes on, this time with a warning message telling you the oil is too low. Drain 500ml of oil, and the problem is fixed.
Eventually, by way of elimination and the application of common sense (the fault codes were pretty random and unclear) the mechanic figured out it must be the coil. That was replaced and paid for by the Motorite warranty, and wala! Problem solved.
Then a year later the EML started coming on again. The mechanic suggested that we start repairing the accident damage on the car. After purchasing it, it turned out that the car was in a front end collision. Not that it bothered me too much. I had very few cars in my lifetime that have not had a few knocks. All the engine mountings had to be replaced as well as the steering rack ends.
After a month the EML came on again. This time it seems to indicate that the lumber sensor needs to be replacement. Mercedes SA would supply the part for R5000. My mechanic can source me a generic one for R1000. Surely it must be cheaper to unscrew the bulb?
But that’s not all. Some jester had clearly been playing around in the factory when this car was built. Sometimes when I reverse out of my garage, the BAS/ESP light and the ABS lights come on. They always come on simultaneously. Fortunately if I switch off the car and switch it on again, it will go out.
The other day we were driving and my wife wondered whether somebody might have had a flatulent escape due to a telltale smell in the car. I could put her mind at rest that it is not the case.
This car will have a light for that too, trust me.…