Old, beat-up jalopies stalled by the side of the road are a rarity in Germany. And when you do see one, it's usually carrying Eastern European license plates -- Poland, Bulgaria, Russia.

I'm not being nationalistic, there's good reason -- mandatory bi-annual safety checks known as Tüv keep run-down vehicles off the road. The checks are performed by an actual engineer with an actual college degree and, after today, I can tell you they take a quick look at everything from the basic car mechanics to doors, seats and even headrests.

They even lift up the car, walk underneath and let the jack shake it back and forth to check the suspension (I'm sure another Tüv engineer checks out the jack to make sure it won't drop a 4300 pound Volvo on two diminutive engineers).

The check is known as Tüv because of the company that used to have a monopoly on the inspections. In the late '80s, Tüv was forced to break up and any number of engineering companies were certified to begin providing the checks. They even introduced a rarity in Germany -- customer service. Inspectors will travel to your local garage to take a look at your car while you're getting an oil change, or your winter and summer tires swapped.

This seems like a nice idea, but it's not. My old Tüv expired in June and so, while getting it done, I figured I could check out a new independent garage (the Volvo dealers have been expensive and crap). I took it in, and told them to change the oil as well. Several hours later I got a phone call -- there's no way, they said, the Volvo would pass the Tüv. The brakes were worn down and there's a pit in the windshield. What would the repairs cost? One thousand five hundred euros, at least.

Right.

He might have had me with the brakes -- they were completely redone five years ago and I only drive the car in the city, which probably isn't so nice. Except: I only drive about 8,000 kilometers a year. Brakes that only last 32,000 clicks? Maybe. But the thing with the windshield was preposterous -- it's passed three other inspections with different Tüv inspectors since I've had it.

"Our guy would never let that through," he said.

Right.

So I took it to Tüv myself this morning and 20 minutes after arriving I had a pink sticker on my license plate showing the Volvo had passed.

I was apprehensive about asking them about the brakes -- maybe they'd take a second look and repeal the Tüv I had just been awarded. But I figured, what with the kids often riding in the back and all, I should ask. Besides, like that criminal having acquiesced to Dirty Harry, I gots to know.

Mr. Engineer Man and his intern looked at me like I had just asked them to make balloon animals. The pads are only half worn, Mr. Intern said.

"You've got at least 5,000 kilometers left. They'll either start squeaking or a light will come on to tell you when they need to be done," Mr. Engineer Man said. And then they both smiled that kind of smile the doctor gives you while handing you a scrip for antibiotics in the midst of a bad infection. The all-will-be-well smile.

I'm against Tüv as a an unnecessary bureaucratic exercise that taps time and resources, but today I'm rethinking my position -- though had I not needed it in the first place, I would have never even thought about spending 1.5 large on brakes I don't need.