Vermont’s governor, Jim Douglas, has recently proposed making the state’s motor vehicle inspection a bi-yearly, rather than yearly, requirement. Coming from a state that long since did away with such requirements, I think this is one good step toward eliminating a purely-unnecessary, revenue-generating, quasi-bureaucratic, corrupt racket that is sanctioned by this state. Here’s the story of my first VT state motor vehicle inspection.
In 2003, Matea and I were more than happy to get all of our official Vermont documentation, including driver’s license, registrations, tags, and anything else that meant we were bona fide residents of the state. After acquiring a boastfully thick folder of documentation, we had left only to inspect the two cars. Now, limping Matea’s Taurus named “Turtle” from SC to VT was a story of its own—I drove it from PA to VT with the brake lights stuck in the on position— but Matea had been able, quite amazingly, to make this repair by herself in our driveway. So we were certain that these two competent, well-traveled sedans would gain the good favor of any inspector who took a good look at their unmentionables. So, I picked the first authorized inspector in the book: A. Brown Automotive. Several hours after dropping the car off, Mr. Brown called me back to say that, prior to passing inspection, I would need several hundred dollars more in diagnostics to reveal the reason for my check engine light’s being illuminated. I politely informed him that I had memorized the entire inspection manual before bringing my car to him and that, according to section so-and-so, vehicles manufactured before 1996 are not subject to the engine light diagnostic rule. After a slight pause, this monumental a-hole A. Brown snarkily responded, “well, maybe
you should become an inspector, then.” The nerve! I calmly asked him to cease and desist in working on my car and told him that I would be there promptly to pick it up. Now, in this state, even when the car “fails” inspection, you still have to pay for the time the highly-qualified master mechanics spent checking it out. Fair enough. But Mr. Brown’s snotty satisfaction with this fact soon turned to glowering disgust when I slapped down my $10 off phone book coupon to bring the total for my troubles down to a mere $5. Take that, A. Wipe!
My second attempt was with a chain I knew, Meineke Car Care (because I trust their spokesman George Foreman implicitly). I pre-paid my $19 and talked the engine light rule over with the lead mechanic. We were on the same page when I left the shop. Alas, several hours later I received the call of death. The clear plastic on the headlights was a little too cloudy for their liking. $600 for new plastic or we would fail again. Mind you, Matea and I came up here directly after college, with no jobs, living on nothing but love and fresh air. We didn’t have the money to go around to every shop in the state to find an honest inspector, let alone to pay for new glasses or exploratory surgeries for our auto-children!! So we left again with no yellow sticker.
I had become frustrated, exhausted, cheated, decapitated...wait... I realized that I was at the mercy of “state-authorized” inspectors whose true first objective was to make money on questionable repairs. Twenty-four dollars in the hole, I made a few more phone calls and found one last shop that had cheap hourly labor rates. I crossed my fingers that they would not be such money grubbing criminals as the last two proprietors I had visited. To my utter joy, after just 30 minutes in the waiting room, I was informed that my baby had finally received the gold star of acceptance. I had but one hurdle to cross before she could don the brilliant yellow number 8 like the rest of her peers. Her front license plate had been riding in the back seat for weeks, as there was no holder for it on my front bumper. In good ole SC, we didn’t have a front license plate required by the state; although, if you loved Jesus, college football, or bass fishing, there did seem to be some requisite plateage for that. But here in Vermont, they like to have every chance at catching the bad guys (I think there are actually 6 bad guys in this state), so we must attach the reflective green identifiers to both ends of our vehicles. So rather than forking over another $15 for them to attach it for me, I knelt down in the greasy gravel of the Burlington Muffler and Brake parking lot and drove two large screws through my pristinely virgin front bumper. This was surprisingly difficult, given the fact that I had no starter holes and I was using a “chubby” (i.e. 3-inch-long) screw driver. Some of you know how red my face can get when I’m very hot or aggravated, so by the time I got back to my feet, front license crookedly but acceptably installed, the combination of the two had brought my cheeks to a hue much like Tammy Faye’s Sunday morning lipstick. Nevertheless, my zippy ‘94-model 626 and I were finally all official-like and on our way home for some much-needed r&errr...vodka. (Tip: I now patronize Champlain Valley Auto on the corner of Williston Rd. and Industrial Ave., where they give quick and trustworthy fifteen-dollar inspections.)
So, in case this entry isn’t already long and boring enough, and in case you all need my perspective on a few more VT driving nuisances, here are a couple of others that come to mind. Is it a law that Vermont parking lots have only one or very few exits? I have been trapped in these asphalt labyrinths for
minutes on end before finally finding my way out. For instance, there’s only one exit from Price Chopper on Shelburne Rd., one way out of Linen’s N Things and the Hannaford-Bed Bath and Beyond complex in Williston. If they’re going to make exiting retail outlets so difficult, they could at least be as courteous as the British and throw in a couple of signs that say “Way Out.” Also, why can’t the state trust me to turn left at an intersection with a light? I often find myself idling, alone at the intersection, in one of two situations. The left-hand turn arrow is red but the straight lanes of traffic on my side are green, with no traffic coming in either direction. Or, the lights in all four directions are red, seemingly forever, while the pedestrian walk light chirps cheerily, presumably for all the lost (and blind) ghost men of our childhood kickball games, since there’s no visible human within a mile radius of the crosswalk. If I can use my judgment in turning left along the rest of a 4-lane road, why not at a green light, too? I don’t need a little arrow to tell me the next fleet of on-coming Subarus is still 600 feet away!!
I hate to gripe (actually, you all know I love griping more than almost anything) but really...oh, and one more thing: who’s ever heard of a “jug handle”?
P.S.
This is a much longer story that I’m sure none of you wants to hear (much like the post above), but I thought I may as well issue a
caveat emptor while I was on the subject of cars. I am much enamored with my Belle, a 2005 Malibu Maxx LT. I wouldn’t say I was overly-thrilled to be purchasing a Chevy as my first new car, but Belle is special, and everyone who rides in her comments on her mien and temperament. Anyway, to make a long story short, I had a still-unidentified problem with the transmission and neither Chevrolet nor the dealership that did all of my warranty work would stand by the car. After hours and hours and hours on the phone and in person, I (i.e my mechanically-knowledgeable father) got the dealership to cap my financial obligation at $400 (I should have paid nothing). So, my warning is that Chevrolet will not stand by its product. But in particular, Shearer Chevrolet on Shelburne Road has the worst, most incompetent service writers and mechanics that I have ever encountered (they once left a piece of pizza on my engine block during a simple oil change). I believe they outright lie, and I would not purchase a car there if you can help it. Ok, enough car talk.
