There is a famous case about an elderly woman needing medical help who phoned not the ambulance service, nor the local hospital, nor her doctor. She phoned her car company, Volvo. When I have catastrophes associated with my car, I reach for my AA card.
The downpour last Saturday evening brought more than a deluge of water. It brought car thieves who used the cover of rain to try and steal my car. They were not successful, but still managed to damage the door locks and the car’s ignition. It was nearing the end of the day and leaving the car overnight meant the thieves could return to have a second go at stealing it.
The man who answered my call to the AA said my membership had lapsed at the beginning of the year. I replied that maybe the membership had not yet been renewed, but that I had been a member, according to my card, since 1986. He was extremely helpful, but it turned out I was not covered for unsuccessful theft. If there was visible damage — which there was not — a tow truck could be sent.
Then he asked if I was insured. I told him I was, with Outsurance.
Thinking about it later, I wondered why I had not first thought about contacting my insurer. But I know why: I think of insurers as companies in Cape Town with fancy adverts who collect monthly fees and, when you approach them to pay for, say, a stolen car radio, you invariably have to cough up what is called the excess, which leaves you wondering why you are insured with the company in the first place.
A little over a year ago, we compared prices and switched to Outsurance.
“I’ll put you through,” the AA man said. The time, my cellphone record shows, was 5.40pm.
Outsurance’s very helpful Monique said she would arrange for a locksmith to come and replace the locks. Eleven minutes later, an SMS confirmed my situation was being processed.
At 6.01pm, a further SMS arrived saying that Edge to Edge locksmiths had been dispatched and would be on the scene in 49 minutes.
My mental image of a locksmith is an Afrikaans guy in short pants, so I was a little surprised when two women pitched up. But they sorted out the problem in no time, stripping out the bust ignition and showing me how to start the car with a pair of pliers.
The locksmiths were not too impressed with the would-be thieves. “You can’t steal a Prado without the key,” the one said firmly. Not only does the key have to be in close proximity to the ignition, thieves also have to deal with the gearlock and the fact that the car is equipped with a tracking device.
But over a beer just two nights earlier, I had heard the story of a car owner who battled to get through to his car tracking company during a storm, only to be told that their helicopter does not fly during storms. Car thieves, the story goes, are closely watching the skies to know when to strike.
By 7.03pm, my emergency was over and I could drive the car. The locks will have to be replaced, along with a pair of prescription sunglasses that I had only just managed to replace after losing the previous pair.
My typical experience when dealing with South African companies has been: we’re big and you have to deal with us. So I’m still a little dazed from: let’s see if we can help smooth this current crisis.