Which reminds me. I’m 30 years old and I still have no idea what an assessment is. As far as I’m aware, it involves me going to the revenue office, saying who I am, and being handed a piece of paper. No money changes hands. I don’t even have to show an ID. But I have to be handed this piece of paper to take to the another desk where they’ll give me a new sticker for my license plate. And while I’m certainly glad that this process has been simplified by the use of the Internet, I still have no idea what I’m doing when I get my property assessed.
And while I’m at it, the concept of a warranty is somewhat mystifying. Basically you sell me a car, and then you sell me a piece of paper saying that if particular parts of it fail, you’ll pay for it, because apparently you’re not confident enough in the quality of your workmanship that you have to have ME pay a little extra JUST IN CASE something goes wrong and YOU have to pay me. And the specificity of the things a warranty covers seems to be getting ever more narrow, such that they approach the level of Steve Martin’s weight guessing prize shelf in The Jerk – “Anything between the ashtrays and the thimble. Anything in this three inches right in here in this area. That includes the Chiclets, but not the erasers.”