On Wednesday morning Andy and I faced the full fury of the Cape Town Traffic Department's grasp of queueing theory.
Or, to put it another way, we "sat" our motorbike rider's license. The day started pretty early for us, we were in town by 7am to make sure we ended up in the first group. So for an hour and a half we sat and made small talk with the instructor we'd spent Sunday morning jumping through hoops for. He was actually quite good. He's an ex traffic officer and has the course marked out and runs through the test with you. He even loans you a bike for the test (a light 200cc bike, considerably more manueverable than our just-sub-litre bikes).
The morning actually ran smoothly for the most part. The testing ground was single-threaded and there was a large enough group of us so that we only actually got around to our test by about 11am. The test itself took 15 minutes and was pretty simple. The rider's test in this country is actually a bit of a joke. It consists only of a yard test and that is almost identical to the practical portion of the learner's test I sat in Melbourne. And on top of that the officer testing our group was particularly lenient.
So no drama there. For some reason I developed incredibly painful eyes and a minor headache. Probably tension. These kinds of things need to be dealt with like band-aids: quickly.
So by 11:15 we'd both passed and headed back into the department building to get everything stamped, signed and filed. Queue one: get it entered into the computer system. Queue two: fingerprints. Queue three: bollocks is that really the guy who finished half an hour before we started?
Queue three was a nightmare. When we arrived it must have been about 30 people strong. One and a half people were serving this queue (for some reason one of them kept disappearing briefly). People were arriving at about twice the rate the queue was being serviced at. We only made it out of there at 2pm, by which stage my back was ready to give out, and the squirrel going ape-shit inside my skull had just started chewing on my brainstem.
But we made it. I think technically we're now required to start a bar fight once a month.