The Collision Reporting Centre

Yesterday I went to the Collision Reporting Centre with Monkey. A very minor accident and everybody is fine but thanks for your concern.

I’m guessing that whoever put together the reporting process is not a black belt in Six Sigma process management. It is more likely that they tied the belt in a Gordian knot and then accidentally hanged themselves with it.

The first thing you encounter when you enter the building, approximately three feet inside the door, is a giant sign reading “Please take a number.” My guess is that 40% of people do not take a number. You then wait for your number to be displayed and proceed to the clerk. This area reminded me of a construction site or a Tim Horton’s counter; nine people boondoggling and one person working.

Of the 40% of people that do take a number 90% of them do not wait for their number to be displayed but simply go to the counter or get in line (this is a separate section that I’ll explain in a minute. Actually, I probably shouldn’t use a measurement of time here but rather of position. You may be a very fast or very slow reader. Even a slow reader will probably reach that section in less than a minute. With position it’s either above or below, in this case below. If you’re reading this upside down there’s nothing I can do for you.) What is the thought process there? The numbers are just random? They’re for display purposes only. They unlock the leprechaun’s treasure chest? Have these people honestly never encountered a number system before?

Anyway, after you’ve discussed details with a clerk, they give you a slip of paper that you take over to the police counter. This is where your number is meaningless and they employ a line-up system. The officer will take a quick look at the paper and then go out to the car to view the damage. You go back inside and the officer asks all of the same questions that the clerk just asked you. During this period someone sneaks outside and slaps a “Damage Reported” sticker on your car. Once that is complete a form is printed and you’re to fill in all the same answers you just verbally gave the clerk and the officer. I assumed that the officer was typing in the details as Monkey explained things but I later found out he was working on his novella for young adults about the dangerous yet glamorous life of a collision reporting centre cop and the woman who loves him but isn’t sure how much more of his devil-may-care attitude she can take. And they’re both vampires.

So you complete the form, which has about three relevant questions, and take it back to the police. The officer then asks the same questions that you’ve already answered to the clerk, other officer and on the form. Once he is satisfied he says “Thank you, bring this slip over there and you can pick up a copy of the report”. “Over there” is a counter beside the area where the clerks sit. A clerk will give you a copy of the report that has none of the details that either you or the second officer wrote down on it and then says “that is all we need, you can leave now.” Really, but I was going to stay for dinner.

It turns out that one of the guys that came in wanted to report an accident he had on his bicycle. I didn’t hear the rest of the story because it was drowned out by my uncontrollable laughter.

On the way out Monkey nearly walked directly into a wall which I didn’t think would do much for her case that she didn’t cause the accident. When she saw the “Damage Reported” sticker she said “Can I take this off?” Yes, of course. The whole purpose of the sticker is to identify the damage only while your car is in the CRC parking lot.

A Letter to my Kindergarten Teacher

I must admit I was taken by surprise when, perusing my old report cards, I came across the phrase “can be sullen and irritable if things don’t go his way”. Those are awfully fancy words for a kindergarten teacher. Did you learn those on your own or were they part of the curriculum sandwiched between “Mixing Orange Syrup Water” and “What to Do When a Child Eats Paste”?

How did you think I’d feel after toiling on the floor piecing together 23 of the 24 pieces that make up the “Hamburglar’s at it Again” jigsaw puzzle only to find the 24th piece chewed, almost beyond recognition, in Mr. Peanut’s cage. Great name for the class hamster by the way. At the age of five we aren’t able to enunciate clearly but perhaps it was your intention to have a group of children shrieking “I want to pet Mr. Peenus.” We certainly got a lot of unwanted attention from the caretaker.

Did you really expect me to maintain my composure after spending the better part of three days building Fort Awesome only to have you tell me it was clean up time. I doubt anyway told Frank Gehry to put his toys away and get ready for story time when he was designing the Experience Music Project.

And Story Time sucked. Why don’t you try a little inflection when you’re reading. You sounded like a depressed robot. Did it look like I was having a good time? Of course it did. I was trying to spare your feelings. Maybe next time you’re writing up report cards in a Jell-O shots induced haze you’ll give that idea a little thought.