Oh, boy. Just looking at this mammoth pothole makes me tremble in fear.
A few weeks ago, I had the misfortune of falling victim to a MASSIVE pothole hidden deep in the butchered streets of the I-88 highway.
Suffice it to say, I haven’t been the same woman since.
(Continue reading "Pothole Hell after the jump...)
It was about 10:30 p.m. and I was driving home in my nifty lil Honda, eager to put an end to my exhausting 13-hour day (the things I do for your viewing pleasure!). And then it happened. BOOM! BANG! AHH! My worst fears had come true: I had gotten my very first flat tire.
The Pot-hell demons were in full force that evening: my Michelin tire was shred to pieces in a matter of seconds. Nothing—not even my sanity—could be salvaged.
In typical Chicago fashion, it was about negative 20 degrees out, snow was falling for the third straight day for the third straight week, and despite my incessant dialing, Triple AAA was NOWHERE IN SITE.
I waited. I called. I cried, marveling at how quickly my tears had turned into icicles. Cars and trucks zoomed past with such speed that they left my vehicle (and soul) shaking. I feared my time had come. Well, at least my life had been relatively rewarding until tonight, I thought to myself.
And then my (ahem) parents showed up and saved me. Yay!
Oh, come on. I may be 26-years-old, but my poor parents didn’t want me to be stranded in the cold, all by myself. So they arrived and urged me to come wait inside their toasty SUV. That's love, my friends. True love.
“The Triple AAA recording says help will be on the way in 30 minutes!” I shouted with glee, thinking that the night was about to have a happy ending after all. If only...
The three of us waited, counting the minutes and then hours—11 p.m. rolled around and nothing…11:45 p.m. and still nothing… 12:00 a.m… Sorry Charlie, but no cigar!
“But Triple AAA was supposed to be here TWO HOURS ago!” I whimpered, thinking that perhaps I should repeatedly smash my head into the dashboard and just die.
By the time 1 a.m. came around, my mom and dad were so sick and tired of waiting that they resolved to abandon the four month old Honda Accord at the side of the road.
“We’ll simply freeze to death out here and help will never arrive,” we said, hanging our heads in sadness and Street Defeat.
And then at 1:13 a.m, just as we were about drive homeward, a beacon of hope shone from behind. The flashing lights could only mean one thing: Chuck, the tireman, had FINALLY come to save the day/night/early morning!
Jolly ole’ Chuck got his tools out and within a matter of minutes, he replaced my tire with a skinny spare. Victory at last!
I drove home at snail speeds that night, making sure to avoid bumps, holes and any cracks in the road at all cost. And to this day, I navigate the city’s streets and chasms with extreme caution, heaven forbid I find myself caught in Pothole Hell once again.
