I regularly use the same chain garage for any work I need on my car. Their building is squeezed into an oddly-shaped site in a busy part of the city that isn’t very practical, but they make it work.
Customers aren’t allowed past a certain point, so we drive our cars into a small area with several marked parking spaces, park, walk into the office to register our car, confirm what we brought it in for, and hand over the keys. Then, a member of staff drives the car back when they are ready for it. Once the work is finished on the car, because there are never enough parking spaces at the front, they put the cars in a yard behind the building until the owner arrives, and then a staff member drives it out to us at the front.
I have brought my car in for its MOT (an annual roadworthiness test). I drop it off in the morning and come back to the garage after work to pick it up. I drive a Fiat 500, a small model with a fairly distinctive appearance, in pastel green. I’ve been in the office to pay and pick up the paperwork, and the staff member behind the counter tells me that a mechanic is bringing the car around right now, so I step out the door of the office into the front area to wait.
As I step out, a woman who looks to already be in a huff walks in from the street and looks around, frowning. She spots me, hesitates, and then walks over and stands next to me, looking in the same direction as me but never at me. I have the sneaking suspicion that she has decided I look like I know what I’m doing and so is going to copy me. (I don’t know what it is about me, but this happens a lot.)
A few moments later, one of the mechanics drives my car around the corner from the workshop area. He’s going very slowly due to the awkward layout, and I start to move to the spot where I assume he is going to pull up. As soon as I take a step, the woman takes off running toward my car. Before the mechanic has even stopped it, she is alongside it and trying to open the driver’s door. I rush over, just as the mechanic opens the door to get out. I see he’s about to hand her the key.
Me: “Wait! That’s my car!”
Woman: “Nnno! Nnno!”
She yells this at me like she’s trying to stop a dog from jumping up at her. The mechanic pauses and holds onto the keys.
Mechanic: *To me* “What’s the registration of your car?”
Me: “It’s [correct registration].”
Mechanic: “Okay.” *To the woman* “This is this lady’s car. I’ll bring yours out next. What was the registration?”
Woman: “This is my car! The registration is [something similar to what I said but with the characters in the wrong order].”
Realising she got it wrong, she walks around to the front of my car to look at the plate and starts reading it off. Meanwhile, I show the mechanic the paperwork for the car which I am still holding, and he hands me the keys. The staff member from the office has come out to see what’s happening, and I think that I’d better speak with him, so I surreptitiously lock the car and put the keys in my bag.
As the guy from the office approaches, the mechanic points at the woman and says to him:
Mechanic: “I think she was trying to steal this car.”
The woman goes off like a rocket, stamping, swearing up a storm, and screaming that the garage has messed up and is sending her precious, beloved car off with a thieving w****! She then throws herself onto the bonnet — at least, she attempts to, but she misjudges it and slides onto the ground, thankfully without denting the car.
A manager then comes out of the office and approaches. The mechanic explains to her what has happened while the woman picks herself up off the floor, now loudly complaining about it being dirty. (It’s a garage, love.) To my surprise, the manager says this to the woman:
Manager: “Mrs. [Woman], we spoke about this last time. Just because a car is brought out while you are standing here, it doesn’t mean it’s your car. Please go into the office. I will deal with your paperwork and call for your car, and then you can leave.”
The way she says “leave” sounds very final, but I don’t think the woman notices. The fight goes out of her a bit, and she follows the manager and the office staff member back to the office while the mechanic looks over the bonnet of my car to make sure it hasn’t been damaged
We are still standing there when the woman’s car is brought out. It is a large, dark grey SUV, quite new but covered in scratches and dents. The mechanic and I both look from that car to mine, and I’m sure we are both wondering how she could possibly have mistaken my car for hers. It strikes me that she might be drunk or something.
Me: “Do you think that woman should actually be driving?”
Mechanic: “No. I think the manager is probably calling the police on her, though. That’ll be fireworks.”
Having had enough drama for the afternoon, I thanked him and left.
Related:
People Who Make You Think “How Are You Allowed To Drive?”
