When your car decides that its true calling is to be underwater
Ah, the rains. That magical time of year when the streets become improvised rivers and the drivers become improvised ship captains. It is a sight as common as seeing a politician promising solutions: you know it is going to happen, but it always catches you off guard. And there you are, in your trusty vehicle, who suddenly decides that his true calling was to be a submarine, asking yourself the million-dollar question: who the hell is going to pay for this aquatic disaster?
Surely you think, with an innocence that almost gives tenderness, that it is the responsibility of the government. After all, they’re the ones who should be keeping the sewers running, right? How nice it would be to live in that fantasy world. The crude, scathing and sarcastic reality is that the Federal Law on State Property Responsibility basically exists to tell you, with bureaucracy and stamped paper: “Too bad, friend. Force majeure.” Article 3 of said regulations is the jewel in the crown, the institutionalized “sorry, it is not in my hands”, which exonerates the State from compensating these “fortuitous events.” In other words, the universal flood is your problem, not the Treasury’s. Ironic, right? We pay taxes for everything, except when the city becomes Venice without the charm.
Your lifesaver: a policy that you didn’t buy to save a few pesos
So, if the government looks at you with a “it wasn’t me” look, who comes to the rescue? Here Condusef makes its grand entrance on the scene, like a hero in a Greek tragedy, to remind you of something you already knew but completely ignored: that comprehensive coverage insurance is not a luxury, it is your life jacket in this ocean of automobile misery. It turns out that if you had shelled out that extra, your beloved car would be protected not only from theft or crashes, but also from its secret aspiration of becoming a water park attraction.
The agency says it with an exasperating calm: it covers “floods and earthquakes.” Isn’t it wonderful? Your car is prepared for the apocalypse, but you didn’t want to pay the premium.The advice not to skimp sounds like a monumental “I told you so.” Comparing prices between insurers is like looking for the least painful needle in a haystack of bills. And if your policy is only liability, my friend, I’m sorry: you’re as protected as ice cream in hell. It covers the damage you cause to others, but if a natural phenomenon turns your engine into a swimming pool, the insurer will send you a letter of condolence… and the invoice.
Evaluating the risks you want to cover is the time to be honest with yourself. Do you live in an area where it rains more than in the rainforest? Maybe, just maybe, broad coverage wasn’t so far-fetched. But no, the average Mexican prefers to play Russian roulette with the weather. The ultimate irony is that we spend endlessly on car accessories, but it gives us a hard time when it comes to the only thing that could save us from water bankruptcy.
The urban castaway’s manual: how to drown your car with style
And then there is the moment of drama: you get trapped. The water rises, your common sense went down a while ago and you decide that crossing that “small” lagoon is a good idea. Mapfre’s blog, with the patience of someone explaining to a child why they should not put their fingers in the socket, enlightens us. The vehicle, in an act of rebellion, turns off. And here comes the most brilliant tip: don’t try to turn it on again. Because? Because you could cause engine damage so catastrophic that it would make the cost of repair look like the national debt.
The recommendation to disconnect the battery to avoid short circuits is great. It’s like saying “if your house is on fire, worry about TV first.” Of course, if you have measured the water level with the precision of an oceanographer and you think it is safe, the advice is not to stop. It drives low and steady, as if you were carrying a full-to-the-brim cup of coffee in the back seat. And be careful with potholes, because of course, in the middle of a flood, your priority is to avoid damage to the asphalt. Because nothing goes better with a flood than a hit to the suspension. The absurdity is total.
In summary, the average citizen faces a philosophical and practical crossroads: trust that the State will rescue him (ha), assume that his luck will change (double ha) or be proactive and take out insurance that covers even the wrath of Poseidon. The lesson, with all the acid humor it deserves, is that in this country responsibility is like an umbrella: you only remember it when you are already soaked. And while your car floats peacefully, you pay for the trip.
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