The last time I hired a car it nearly killed me. This is because Avis Geneva, in its infinite wisdom, issued me with a 4×4 and waved me off to a ski resort cheerily insisting that the great hulking thing had snow tyres and that as such I should feel free to climb every mountain, ford every stream, etc. Till you slip over the edge and plunge to your death, it should have added. Because it didn’t have snow tyres at all. And 4×4 + normal tyres + sheet ice = unstoppable death trap. I know Avis is hoping I’ll forget about this, but weirdly enough I remain intrigued by the process that led to me hurtling towards the edge of a precipice and only crashing non-fatally because a car coming up the mountain put itself in the way of my death plunge trajectory.
I’ve rung Avis several times to complain but got nowhere. So I hope it won’t think it rude if I book cars with other companies from now on. Europcar, for example. I booked with it a few weeks ago and so far it hasn’t nearly killed me. It’s only bankrupting me. I suppose it’s little steps. It started by quoting me £264.25 on its website for ten days’ hire in Italy. Gosh, I thought, that’s jolly reasonable. I was arranging the car for my parents so I told my dad that when they got to Naples airport they should check it had four wheels because it really did sound impossibly cheap. My parents picked it up, pronounced it fine, and trotted off on their holiday. But when the bill arrived a few days after they got back, Europcar had somehow charged a grand total of 684 euros, or £569. Not £264.25.
I rang the Europcar customer service helpline. Press one for something, press two for something similar, press three for something slightly different, and so on, until my brain started aching and I plumped for option seven. Eventually, a girl snatched up the phone and trilled, as if all one word, ‘Hello-welcome-to-Europcar-customer-service-Tina-speaking-how-may-I-help?’ I explained my predicament and she was immediately woeful. ‘Oh dear, the only thing I could do would be to get the details from Naples,’ she said. ‘Well, can you do that then?’ I asked. ‘I can request them,’ she said, as if we were talking about applying for diplomatic immunity. ‘Then please do so,’ I said tartly. She huffed. ‘It will take ten days.’ ‘What? Can’t you just ring them, or send an email.’ ‘I can put in a request…’ she said bossily and I could hear her typing ‘but our standard response time is ten days….’
‘This is ridiculous,’ I said. ‘I’m not asking for a resolution from the UN security council. I’m querying a car hire bill. I don’t want to wait ten days, I want to know what’s happened now…’ And then, quite as if she hadn’t said anything about negotiating an entente cordiale with Italy, she declared, ‘Right, I’m looking at your invoice now, it’s just come through…’ ‘Hang on, I thought you said ten days.’ ‘Ten days is the standard time. Sometimes they come through quicker.’ ‘Like in 30 seconds?’ ‘They can do.’ ‘So, ten days or 30 seconds, then?’
But I really didn’t have the strength to argue so I gave up quibbling and asked her to explain the charges. And now I’m quoting exactly from notes I made because I knew this was going to be good: she said, ‘Your basic rental is £264, then you’ve got roof, chassis and tyres insurance £40, excess reduction cover at £60, then the super collision damage waiver £110. Then you’ve got the vandalism cover for £25, the security devices for £2.50…’ ‘The what?’ ‘That’s the high-visibility vest they have to have in the car by law.’ ‘And you’ve charged me for it?’ ‘People steal them. The amount of vests that go missing ’cos people steal them…’ ‘Fine. Go on.’ ‘The sanitary service is £3.50…’ ‘Sanitary service?! They had a loo in the car?’ ‘I don’t know what that is, actually. I’ve never heard of it before. The additional driver is £65 and the VAT is £114.05, which equals 684 euros.’ Then she paused and said, ‘Oh, actually, when I said pounds on all those other things I meant euros.’ Thankfully, my mobile phone cut out before I could tell her she was a silly moo. When I rang back I got another girl who told me Tina had ‘logged off’. I explained my predicament. ‘Oh, my word!’ she exclaimed, rather endearingly. ‘I wouldn’t be happy with that: 684 euros! That’s terrible.’ ‘Any chance you could do something about it?’ I asked. ‘Well, we can put in a request for a review, but it will take ten days…’
Melissa Kite is deputy political editor of the Sunday Telegraph.
Comments