The annual Vehicle Inspection.
The inspector attaches a hose to the exhaust pipe of my car, carefully checks every light - he even finds the switch for those extra lights I never figured out how to turn on! - and notes down numbers on the performance of the brakes and the suspension and a hundred other things. He raises my car on a ramp and somehow makes the ramp shake violently. He seems satisfied when the car doesn't fall off. He manually turns the front wheels, looks under the bonnet, checks underneath the chassis. He even tries the horn.
I stand in a corner of the hall where five cars are being inspected at the same time. It takes a while. Finnish inspections are probably the most rigid in the world, we Finns are always obsessed with safety rules and regulations. The Porsche next to my humble Citroën seems to attract some admiration from the inspectors. A beat-up old Nissan in the back sits abandoned while its owner is waiting forlornly next to it. A Chrysler causes some confusion when the inspector can't find a switch he is looking for and has to call for help from the others.
In the parking lot outside, teenagers are trying to pass a motorcycle manouvering exam. In a sudden flash, I remember coming here many years ago with my driving instructor in the hopes of getting my driving license. I was so nervous I almost threw up. I failed the first driving exam but eventually passed. Thank God I learned to drive when I was seventeen! Now, approaching middle age, I would never dare. Would probably never pass the exam either.
But my car passes the test today and I drive off happily. The inspector manages to remove the hose from the exhaust pipe just in time.
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