At war with the kilometer monkeys

This summer, I drove through a country to the north. I won’t name it but they use maple syrup as salad dressing and end most sentences with a question mark (eh?). And, they probably molest beavers. Yes, I’m a little peeved with the off-brand white people.

And, it’s not just because I encountered a McDonald’s up there that wouldn’t accept American dollars. McDonalds is American, you moose sniffers.

But, what set it off today is the receipt of an invoice for traversing their roads. Apparently, one or more of their glorified cowpaths was a toll road. In all fairness, there was signage. They were scanning plates. If you wanted to avoid the fee for that, you could send away for a transponder. Right. I have to be in Snug Harbour in three hours, so I’m going to pull over, download a transponder application, mail it and wait a couple weeks at the exit ramp for it to arrive. How about you put up a booth and I pay you now?

So, they recorded my plate and my own government was only too happy to sell me out to them with my private information. I’d like to take a gander at that agreement.

Fair is fair and I’ll take responsibility for any reasonable charge I incur. Let’s see, sixteen bucks for just under 35 km. That’s a buck and a quarter a mile, which strikes me as a little pricey, but okay. Three bucks for an account fee. Did I open or authorize an account? Okay, let’s not split hairs. And, $54 for the video because I wasn’t carrying the transponder. Transponder this! If they had a toll booth, the cost wouldn’t be anywhere near that much. This is highway robbery (literally).

I call the customer service number and get a young lady who sounds literate enough to function outside of her third world country. After putting me on hold a few times to check into some things, she informs me that the high fee is because I was driving a heavy truck. I ask her to define that and she replies that it’s anything over five tons.

First of all, when I’m up there, everything is kilogram this or kilometer that. You bring up an English unit and they look at you like a chimp. But, when it comes time to stick it to you, they suddenly know tons. Even if she’s referring to a metric ton, that’s more than a real (U.S. of A.) ton.

I inform her I drive a pickup truck and defy her to name three, no make that just one, pickup truck that even approaches five tons. She asks me to hold again while she checks the video. What is this, instant replay? If I’m wrong, do I get charged with a timeout?

She finally returns and informs me that she’s reversing the charge. And, she hopes I enjoy my next visit up there.

Yeah, like that’s going to happen real soon.