The flipside of car guards

Of all the irritations, car guards rank among my top 10. No matter where I park, there is inevitably someone wearing a bright yellow bib demanding eye contact the moment I open my door. Most are friendly, but then there are also those who are rather forceful. I can’t help myself, but I generally lose it when they ask if they should look after my vehicle. I don’t pitch up at work every day and first ask my boss whether I must do my duties. If it is someone’s job to look after cars, surely that is what they must…

Of all the irritations, car guards rank among my top 10. No matter where I park, there is inevitably someone wearing a bright yellow bib demanding eye contact the moment I open my door. Most are friendly, but then there are also those who are rather forceful.

I can’t help myself, but I generally lose it when they ask if they should look after my vehicle. I don’t pitch up at work every day and first ask my boss whether I must do my duties. If it is someone’s job to look after cars, surely that is what they must do – without asking permission.

Yes, I get the fact that they don’t earn a salary and rely on the generosity of vehicle owners for their survival, so it does place them in a rather precarious position.

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But what happens if they ask, and I say no? Does that mean they will turn a blind eye if someone steals my car? And on the flipside, if I say yes, keep an eye on it, are they then contractually bound to look after my vehicle? Can I sue them if something happens to my car while under their care?

We all know that car insurance is not cheap. Apart from insuring my car, I also pay a monthly fee for a tracking device. I honestly can’t afford to hand out more cash every time I stop somewhere. Even worse is when I pay for “safe” parking and then still find the bibbed beggar rubbing his hands while I’m barely out from behind the steering wheel.

Of course, there are times when I demand extra security for my vehicle – especially if the parking area looks a tad dodgy or I have valuables in the car.

Last weekend in Cape Town, I was responsible for the family and their luggage. We decided to go for lunch in Strand before flying back to Joburg, so I was rather pleased to see the yellow bib hobble in my direction.

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He asked and I answered – a verbal contract was sealed with a fist-pump. After lunch, while rummaging through my wallet, the guard cleared his throat, ensuring my attention. “I prefer a card payment,” he said, whipping out his Yoco machine, “because it’s not safe carrying cash around here.”