Friday, April 21, 2006
For those of you unaware, Michigan has a Pothole Hotline number (888-296-4546) you can call around the clock, seven days a week to report pothole criminal activity. The other day I hit a pothole so large that my purse went flying out my convertible top. I quickly dug my cell phone out of my glove compartment (making sure not to sideswipe the other drivers on the road and barely missing that old lady with a walker) and dialed to report the pickpocket pothole. Here is a transcript of my call.
Dispatch: Pothole Hotline, can I help you?
Me: Yes, I’d like to report a pothole please.
Dispatch: Your location, M’am?
Me: Broken Springs
Dispatch: Where at in Broken Springs?
Me: It isn’t very big, you know. I’m in my car. It’s red. Can you see me?
Dispatch: What street, please?
Me: U.S. 13. Well, Crass Street after it turns into 13, after the traffic light.
Dispatch: Which traffic light?
Me: THE traffic light. We only have one.
Dispatch: And where is it?
Me: U.S. 13 and Crass Street, like I said.
Dispatch: The traffic light?
Me: Yes, the traffic light.
Dispatch: I meant the pothole.
Me: You didn’t mean the light?
Dispatch: No, the hole.
Me: What hole?
Dispatch: The pothole you’re calling to report.
Me: There’s no pot in Broken Springs. Cops confiscate it all.
Dispatch: Not all of it, apparently.
Me: What was that?
Dispatch: Nothing. So this hole…
Me: Oh yes, the hole. It’s a biggie. I almost lost my car in it.
Dispatch: Can’t be that big.
Me: I have a small car.
Dispatch: And I bet it’s red.
Me: Hey, how’d you know?
Dispatch: It’s not important. So about this hole…
Me: What does the color of my car have to do with the pothole?
Dispatch: Nothing at all.
Me: Then why bring it up?
Dispatch: I didn’t. You did, about an hour ago.
Me: Yes, you’re right. But I was lying. My car is blue.
Dispatch: What color’s the pothole?
Me: What are you, an idiot? It’s black, the color of all potholes. But it had a lot of blue in it when I drove over it. It’s pretty deep too.
Dispatch: My, how’d you get out?
Me: I drive a Hemi.
Dispatch: I thought you said you drove a small car?
Me: Well, it’s a small Hemi. Like a mini-Hemi.
Dispatch: A blue mini-Hemi convertible, eh?
Me: Don’t you believe me?
Dispatch: Of course. Now about this hole…
Me: You’re too gullible. I drive a Mazda. I was lying about the Hemi. Not about the pothole, though. It is deep.
Dispatch: How deep?
Me: If you fell in it, you’d need a rope.
Dispatch: That’s fairly deep.
Me: Yeah. I’m pretty sure it’s another time zone down there.
Dispatch: You’re not in the pothole now, are you?
Me: Heavens no! Thank God. No way would I get cell service down there.
Dispatch: You could if you were on Nextel.
Me: I have crappy Centennial.
Dispatch: So about this hole…
Me: What more do you need to know?
Dispatch: Well, we have a physical description. It’s black and deep. About how big would you say?
Me: Hmm… plate size.
Dispatch: Paper plate or regular plate?
Me: Paper plate size… but not one of those small paper plates. Just a regular paper plate, like the kind you use at a potluck and fill it up before you get to the really good food.
Dispatch: So the pothole is the size of a potluck paper plate?
Me: You got it. Maybe even a little bit bigger.
Dispatch: How much bigger?
Me: Couple inches.
Dispatch: Male inches or female inches?
Dispatch: Well male inches are smaller… you know, the length of fish, the size of anatomy…
Me: Oh! Yes.
Dispatch: Male inches then?
Me: No! I meant yes I know what you mean. My boyfriend always says he has a 7 inch--
Dispatch: Ahem… we should get back to the hole.
Me: Whose hole?
Dispatch: The pothole.
Me: Oh, for a minute there I thought you meant my hole.
Dispatch: No, I meant the pothole, which is black and deep—
Me: Are you sure you’re not talking about my hole?
Dispatch: No! I’m talking about the pothole, about as big as a potluck paper plate—
Me: A couple inches bigger.
Dispatch: Oh yes, a couple female inches bigger?
Me: Uh huh.
Dispatch: Would that be radius or circumference?
Me: I failed Geometry.
Dispatch: Are the couple inches around the edge or to the center?
Me: That’s a toughie. Around the edge, I think.
Dispatch: Circumference then.
Me: But wait. It’s not really a circle. More of a rectangular oval. Does that make a difference?
Dispatch: Not really.
Me: Whew. They’re like snowflakes, ya know. No two are exactly the same shape.
Dispatch: That’s true.
Me: I’ve never eaten a pothole, though. A pot pie, on the other hand--
Dispatch: Which lane is it in?
Me: Neither. It’s in my freezer.
Dispatch: The pothole is in your freezer?
Me: Are we back on the hole again? I was talking about the pot pie.
Dispatch: What lane is the pothole in?
Me: The right lane.
Dispatch: The right lane could be either lane, depending on which direction you’re going.
Me: That’s true.
Dispatch: So which direction were you going?
Dispatch: And in which lane going north?
Me: There’s only one, unless you want to turn at the light.
Dispatch: I thought you said you were past the light?
Me: Well I was when I called.
Dispatch: When did you encounter the pothole?
Me: Shortly before I called.
Dispatch: Is the pothole before or after the traffic light?
Me: Before, on Crass Street.
Dispatch: Crass Street is not a state road. It’s a city road.
Dispatch: So we cannot do anything about it. You should report it to your city road commission.
Me: My city what?
Dispatch: Road Commission. I’m sorry. I can’t help you.
Me: After all we’ve been through?
Dispatch: Have a nice day.
Me: But wait—