City of Johannesburg
YOU’D THINK IF ANYONE knew the correct address to reach you at it would be the city you live in and pay rates to – but apparently not. The City of Johannesburg, seemingly has no idea I live in it – or at least is confused about how to get invoices to me. Instead of finding me, a seemingly better option is handing my overdue bill to a group of thug lawyers it commissions to collect debts on its behalf.
Time to make some phone calls. The first is to the lawyers to inform them I acknowledge the debt and will settle it in full but not via their dodgy business.
With the thugs out of the way, it’s time to call the city and, embarrassingly, tell them where I live. It would have been nice to know I owed them money. Call one ends in failure, as the phone simply rings for minutes before disconnecting. Though call two reaches some form of call centre after 18 minutes of holding I grow tired (and old) and hang up.
Call three is a hit. A jacked-up representative answers the phone, checks my outstanding balance, provides me with banking details and tells me to fax the city with details of my “new” address. She even wishes me a nice day.
My return to legitimacy with my beloved city is now complete and I’ve dodged the sharks.