Something stinks over street pong’s reference number
IWAS reminded of that very catchy advertisement for a coffee creamer – “It’s not inside, it’s on top” – as I paged through the telephone directory looking for somebody to talk to about the pong of sewage in our street. If you ever need a little confusion in your life try wading through the local government pages. I tried “air pollution” and “environmental health”. I tried “roads and stormwater” and I even toyed with the idea of calling “law enforcement” (can you arrest an alien smell?).
Most of the numbers I called were answered by machines advising me to press one for English and two for Afrikaans, then listing options that didn’t seem to fit the bill. Eventually I called a friend who works for the city council and she said those famous words: “It’s not inside, it’s on top.” Well, actually, it’s on the bottom of the book. There on the back cover I found the City of Cape Town Key Contacts.
I was torn between “roads and stormwater” and “solid waste”, because I didn’t know whether our stink has a watery origin or a solid one.
I chose roads and stormwater and was helped by a most obliging young woman who listened to my story and promised to take note of my complaint.
Shortly afterwards I received an SMS telling me my problem had been logged and giving me a reference number. So now (three days later) we still have the stink of sewage in our street, but at least it’s now an OFFICIAL stink with a reference number.
When guests wrinkle their noses, look suspiciously at their wine and say: “What’s that awful smell?”, I can reply with authority: “That is officially sewer overflow stink number 1010640954.”
Heavy traffic
I should have renewed the licence of one of my vehicles a couple of months ago, but these things tend to slip my mind, particularly now that we are no longer warned of their impending expiry.
I gathered the relevant documents (plus some extras, just in case. You never know when those in authority might suddenly demand your grandmother’s marriage licence) and set off to the local municipal office. It was about 8.30am.
When I arrived the queue of people wanting to renew licences stretched out of the office door, down the corridor and into the library next door.
I left, because I am too old to spend my remaining days queueing. I returned at 3.30pm only to find the queue had grown even longer.
I think I recognised some of the people from that morning, although they looked older.
Now do I simply drive the vehicle in the hope nobody will notice my expired disc, or do I scrap the vehicle (which apparently requires standing in a shorter queue)? Or do I simply wait until my own expiry date arrives?
Last Laugh
Mary came home from school looking very forlorn and her mother asked her what was wrong: “I’m just so embarrassed that we are so poor,” she replied. “What do you mean, darling?” asked her mum. “We were talking at school this morning and Sally said her parents told her they’d got her from the hospital. Jimmy said his parents said angels had delivered him and Peter said the stork had delivered him.
“I was too embarrassed to say we were so poor that you and daddy had had to make me yourselves.”