Speak English?

The other day I went to register my Honda Metropolitan moped at the Department of Motor Vehicles. For those who are not following me on faceBook, you do get the news a few days late. But this blog is not about my expanding world of transportation. It’s about accommodations and you can draw the conclusion if this is about your money.

I had been to the office a day earlier to check on the procedure of registering my new ride. I purchased the moped from an airline pilot who was currently laid off from the soon to be, if not already be (said purposefully) defunct Mokulele Airlines. It is tough to compete against the dominate player, Hawaiian, but it is an uphill battle when your name can’t be pronounced, remembered or said, by your potential clients. It was bad marketing. Most visitors look at this word as a foreign language. It is. Most adults tune out foreign words. If they can’t or won’t pronounce it, they won’t fly it. Mokulele is not hard, to say or pronounce but Hawaiian and Go. Now that is familiar and easy.

Anyway, my pilot buddy was liquidating assets to move to Newark. He had a moped with a registration signed back in September 2008 by the previous owner. Uninspected and unregistered. I wondered how the DMV would handle this. Registration transfers are suppose to be done within ten days or the fine is up to $100.

I wasn’t going to purchase the moped if I couldn’t resolve this matter without another $100 coming from my pocket. But the lady at the DMV after a brief consultation with unknown persons behind partitioned walls said, “no worries."

A current inspection was needed before they would transfer the registration for $5.00. Such a deal. I wondered if I needed to get that in writing.

The inspection cost less than ten dollars. I needed to replace a light bulb in my head lamp, which I knew about because I arrived home the day I got it, in the dark. The mechanic discovered my brake lights were not working and fixed that using pliers to unjam the wire at the hand brake. He also instructed to change the oil every 1000 miles and check air pressure in the tires every two weeks. With inspection done, and two new stickers slapped on the back of my moped, I returned to DVM.

A different lady. I should have gotten this in writing. In the entrance way I fished the necessary documents out of my backpack.

“Whenever you are ready, I can help you,” she politely offered. So far, so good. Set the tone.

I sat down at her desk. “I would like to transfer this registration.” I handed her the papers. She was pleased that I had the inspection. “Yes, I was in here yesterday to find out what I needed. I was told there would be no fine.”

She accepted this and proceeded to process the paperwork. “Color of the moped?”

It’s not a true blue. It’s sort of between a blue violet and a slate blue. Depends on the light. “Hum, purple and white.”

“Purple? I’m going to have to look up the code for purple.” Moments later she officially sanctified my moped as M, the code for purple. Magenta maybe? If it ever gets stolen I’m reporting it as slate blue.

As she typed up the paperwork, I looked around her desk. If Mokulele went belly up because tourist wrestled with the name, then rest assured that the DVM in Hawaii will never fold.

There was a sign that said if you need an interpreter point to the language and the department would provide one. Maybe this is what Mokulele needed.

Apparently the DMV has access to people who will help you register your vehicle in twenty-one languages, including Pohnpeian.

Idih wasabt ma ke anahne soun kawehwe ni lokaia wet.

If you can’t say it in English, maybe you shouldn’t be driving it. If you can’t say it in Hawaiian, maybe you won’t fly it?