The Pothole Rebellion

There is a pothole in the middle of the street in front of my house. It's been there for a while, so I decided to call my city-council member to see if there was something that they could do about it. My call went to voice-mail and I left a detailed message. That afternoon, one of the street-maintenance workers, Bob, rang my doorbell and I showed him my pothole. He agreed that it was definitely a serious hazard and promised to have it filled in short order. He left me his card with his cell-phone number on it.

It's been a week, so I called the number on the card and Bob answered. He explained that it turns out that my pothole isn't the only one they've discovered. A team of inspectors has been sent out to visit every street in the city in order to take an inventory of potholes. He promised that they would have a final tally by the end of the month. He assured me that my pothole would be at the top of the list.

I didn't want to sound like a nag, so I waited an extra week after the first before calling Bob again. He apologized profusely for the delay, but assured me they were working on it. Apparently, due to the number of potholes that they've found, the effort needed to fill them will involve a vast army of workers. The city council has decided that if they have to send so many people out just to fix the potholes, they might as well widen some of the streets at the same time. Bob didn't know how long it might take, but he said that he would know after the next council meeting.

Bob actually called me! He explained that the city council had approved the street-widening project, but since that would require replacing the side-walks as well, they were looking to add more of them where there were currently none. This was being discussed in a workshop next Monday and would be voted on during the next monthly council meeting.

It's been several months now since I first contacted the city about my pothole. The sidewalk expansion project has grown to include bus cutouts and medians. All of the bus shelters will have to be replaced as well, adding to the time and expense, but the city has applied for state and federal matching funds to defray the costs significantly. They expect this to be expedited since we qualify as having shovel-ready projects. Yesterday, I called Bob and got a recorded message saying that his number was no longer in service.

This morning, I went over to Home Depot and bought a small bag of PatchMaster and spent about thirty minutes filling and tamping down the asphalt mix in my pothole. Fortunately, the traffic was fairly light and I only had two close calls. When I was done, I surveyed my work and basked in that inner glow of a job well done. It was still a couple of hours until lunchtime, so I decided to take a short nap. I dozed off, still thinking about how nice the street in front of my house looked now.

I was awakened prematurely by someone insistently ringing my doorbell. "I'm coming!" I yelled, as I made my way to the front door. I yanked it open—somewhat angrily, I must admit—and stared at a man in a suit accompanied by two uniformed officers. "Can I help you?" I asked him. I nervously noted that the officers were holding their assault rifles at the ready.

"We received several anonymous tips that someone was working on the pothole in front of your house." He turned and pointed at my work. "Do you know who might have done this?"

I relaxed. "Why, yes, I do." I grinned with pride. "It was me. I fixed that pothole!"

He grabbed me by the arm and roughly dragged me out of my house. Spinning me around, one of the other men pulled my arms back and snapped handcuffs on my wrists. "You are under arrest for criminal activity involving critical infrastructure. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. If you decide to answer questions now without an attorney present, you have the right to stop answering at any time."

"This is some sort of mistake!" I yelled at them. "What's wrong with you people?"

"Please calm down, sir," the man in the suit warned me. "We don't want to have to tase you."

I could see that he was serious, so I bit my tongue and said nothing as I was escorted out to the curb and seated in the back of the patrol car. The man in the suit got in an unmarked vehicle and the two officers drove me to the local precinct.

I managed to stay silent while they did the thing with the camera and fingerprints. Finally, I was allowed a phone call, but I didn't know anyone's number without my phone—which they had taken from me along with my wallet. The only number I could think of was one that had been subliminally etched into my brain from their ads on late-night TV. The nice-sounding woman on the other end took my name, date of birth, and the number of the precinct. She explained that they only handled personal injury cases but would transfer me to a sister firm that could help me. I waited on hold until the phone disconnected because my three minutes was up.

I was led downstairs to a holding cell that wasn't so terribly bad. It was relatively clean and nice and—as I was relieved to see—empty. I sat down on the cold metal bench and wondered what was going to happen to me.

About two hours had passed when a young woman was let into the hallway and she approached the bars of my cell.

"Are you Jim Hamilton?" she asked.

"Yes, I am. Who are you?"

"My name is Janice Vinmorea and I'm here as your lawyer."

I looked her up and down. I'm not sure what I expected, but she certainly wasn't it. "When can I get out of here?"

"As soon as you sign this form." She passed me a clipboard and a pen through the bars.

"What is it?"

"I need your permission to act as your representative." She smiled. "Just sign it and I can get you out of here."

I glanced through the fine print that covered the page and shrugged. Whatever. I signed the form at the bottom and passed the pen and clipboard back to her. "Here you go."

She smiled once more. "I'll be back in a few minutes with someone to let you out." I watched as she disappeared from view. After a moment, I returned to my seat on the bench and waited as patiently as I could.

True to her word, only a few minutes later, she returned with a young rookie who unlocked the door and slid it back. "Come with me and let's go collect your belongings," she said. I followed her down the hall and back up the stairs to the booking area. I signed for my phone, car keys, and wallet and thanked them for their hospitality.

"What happens now?" I asked. "Am I off the hook?"

She shook her head. "Not exactly. I stood in arraignment for you and paid your bond." She looked encouragingly at me. "That's a good sign, you know. Homeland Security wanted you held without bail."

"Homeland Security?" I asked. "Why would Homeland Security be involved?"

We walked slowly out to the sidewalk as she explained things to me. "If you had only fixed the sidewalk, it would have been no big deal. But you tampered with the roadway which is in violation of Federal law since it's part of the critical infrastructure and falls under the Department of Transportation regulations."

"Why Homeland Security?" I was trying to make sense of this. "I fixed a hole in the road. They should be thankful."

"Any time someone messes with the roads, they treat it as a possible terrorist activity until proven otherwise." She nudged me with her elbow. "Luckily, the judge didn't buy into that and she granted bail. Which, like I said, is a good sign."

"Umm, how much trouble am I in?"

She looked concerned. "Technically, you could be sentenced to five-to-ten years in a Federal penitentiary."

"For fixing a fucking pothole?!" I counted slowly to ten to calm myself down. "Sorry about that," I muttered sheepishly.

She laughed. "Don't worry. You're out on bail until your hearing, which is three months away. Go home. Have fun. I'll call you."

As she headed off to the parking garage, I summoned an Uber ride. While I was waiting, I spent the time mentally composing my email that I would soon be sending to the police department. I planned on CC-ing the police chief, the mayor, and the entire city council as well. I was on my fifth iteration when my ride arrived.

As we neared my house, I was surprised to see that my pothole was back again. It was now a bit wider and noticeably deeper than before. "There's no need to be swearing like that, mate," admonished my driver as I angrily exited his car. I slammed the door and stomped up the sidewalk and let myself into the house. At least the police had locked my door. I mentally included this in my email tirade since I never mind giving credit where credit is due.

On the evening news there was a three-minute segment about the city's street-and-sidewalk renovation project that had just been approved by the city council. A lot was made about the addition of bike lanes and extra bus stops plus the safety aspect of more sidewalks. Toward the end, they showed a map with the estimated dates of when each section of the city would be upgraded. My street was in Phase V, some two years from now. I ate a pint of chocolate ice cream for dinner and went to bed depressed.

This morning, I woke up and began my email to the city. However, no matter how I tried to tell my story, I couldn't keep the accusatory tone out of it. I wasn't really angry with any of them. It would have been easy enough to vent my frustration on them, but they were just doing their job. Besides, what was my email going to accomplish? They would tell me to be patient and my pothole would be fixed in no time. By government standards, two years is no time at all. Just one more election cycle to get through.

I stood patiently on the sidewalk, admiring my work. It had taken another trip to Home Depot, but my pothole was no longer a pothole. It was packed and level and as good a job as any. It would certainly hold up for a couple of years until the professionals get here. As my great-aunt Cecille would say, "Any job worth doing is worth doing well." I was still admiring my handiwork when the first police car turned the corner and headed my way, its lights flashing and siren blaring.

I grinned as I raised my hands and waited for them. [TO BE CONTINUED]

Essay on Daylight Saving (Ben Franklin)

To THE AUTHORS of The Journal of Paris (1784)

MESSIEURS,

You often entertain us with accounts of new discoveries. Permit me to communicate to the public, through your paper, one that has lately been made by myself, and which I conceive may be of great utility.

I was the other evening in a grand company, where the new lamp of Messrs. Quinquet and Lange was introduced, and much admired for its splendour; but a general inquiry was made, whether the oil it consumed was not in proportion to the light it afforded, in which case there would be no saving in the use of it. No one present could satisfy us in that point, which all agreed ought to be known, it being a very desirable thing to lessen, if possible, the expense of lighting our apartments, when every other article of family expense was so much augmented.

I was pleased to see this general concern for economy, for I love economy exceedingly.

I went home, and to bed, three or four hours after midnight, with my head full of the subject. An accidental sudden noise waked me about six in the morning, when I was surprised to find my room filled with light; and I imagined at first, that a number of those lamps had been brought into it; but, rubbing my eyes, I perceived the light came in at the windows. I got up and looked out to see what might be the occasion of it, when I saw the sun just rising above the horizon, from whence he poured his rays plentifully into my chamber, my domestic having negligently omitted, the preceding evening, to close the shutters.

I looked at my watch, which goes very well, and found that it was but six o'clock; and still thinking it something extraordinary that the sun should rise so early, I looked into the almanac, where I found it to be the hour given for his rising on that day. I looked forward, too, and found he was to rise still earlier every day till towards the end of June; and that at no time in the year he retarded his rising so long as till eight o'clock. Your readers, who with me have never seen any signs of sunshine before noon, and seldom regard the astronomical part of the almanac, will be as much astonished as I was, when they hear of his rising so early; and especially when I assure them, that he gives light as soon as he rises. I am convinced of this. I am certain of my fact. One cannot be more certain of any fact. I saw it with my own eyes. And, having repeated this observation the three following mornings, I found always precisely the same result.

Yet it so happens, that when I speak of this discovery to others, I can easily perceive by their countenances, though they forbear expressing it in words, that they do not quite believe me. One, indeed, who is a learned natural philosopher, has assured me that I must certainly be mistaken as to the circumstance of the light coming into my room; for it being well known, as he says, that there could be no light abroad at that hour, it follows that none could enter from without; and that of consequence, my windows being accidentally left open, instead of letting in the light, had only served to let out the darkness; and he used many ingenious arguments to show me how I might, by that means, have been deceived. I owned that he puzzled me a little, but he did not satisfy me; and the subsequent observations I made, as above mentioned, confirmed me in my first opinion.

This event has given rise in my mind to several serious and important reflections. I considered that, if I had not been awakened so early in the morning, I should have slept six hours longer by the light of the sun, and in exchange have lived six hours the following night by candle-light; and, the latter being a much more expensive light than the former, my love of economy induced me to muster up what little arithmetic I was master of, and to make some calculations, which I shall give you, after observing that utility is, in my opinion the test of value in matters of invention, and that a discovery which can be applied to no use, or is not good for something, is good for nothing.

I took for the basis of my calculation the supposition that there are one hundred thousand families in Paris, and that these families consume in the night half a pound of bougies, or candles, per hour. I think this is a moderate allowance, taking one family with another; for though I believe some consume less, I know that many consume a great deal more. Then estimating seven hours per day as the medium quantity between the time of the sun's rising and ours, he rising during the six following months from six to eight hours before noon, and there being seven hours of course per night in which we burn candles, the account will stand thus;--

In the six months between the 20th of March and the 20th of September, there are

Nights 183

Hours of each night in which we burn candles 7

Multiplication gives for the total number of hours 1,281

These 1,281 hours multiplied by 100,000, the number of inhabitants, give 128,100,000

One hundred twenty-eight millions and one hundred thousand hours, spent at Paris by candle-light, which, at half a pound of wax and tallow per hour, gives the weight of 64,050,000

Sixty-four millions and fifty thousand of pounds, which, estimating the whole at-the medium price of thirty sols the pound, makes the sum of ninety-six millions and seventy-five thousand livres tournois 96,075,000

An immense sum! that the city of Paris might save every year, by the economy of using sunshine instead of candles. If it should be said, that people are apt to be obstinately attached to old customs, and that it will be difficult to induce them to rise before noon, consequently my discovery can be of little use; I answer, Nil desperandum. I believe all who have common sense, as soon as they have learnt from this paper that it is daylight when the sun rises, will contrive to rise with him; and, to compel the rest, I would propose the following regulations;

First. Let a tax be laid of a louis per window, on every window that is provided with shutters to keep out the light of the sun.

Second. Let the same salutary operation of police be made use of, to prevent our burning candles, that inclined us last winter to be more economical in burning wood; that is, let guards be placed in the shops of the wax and tallow chandlers, and no family be permitted to be supplied with more than one pound of candles per week.

Third. Let guards also be posted to stop all the coaches, &c. that would pass the streets after sunset, except those of physicians, surgeons, and midwives.

Fourth. Every morning, as soon as the sun rises, let all the bells in every church be set ringing; and if that is not sufficient?, let cannon be fired in every street, to wake the sluggards effectually, and make them open their eyes to see their true interest.

All the difficulty will be in the first two or three days; after which the reformation will be as natural and easy as the present irregularity; for, ce n'est que le premier pas qui coûte. Oblige a man to rise at four in the morning, and it is more than probable he will go willingly to bed at eight in the evening; and, having had eight hours sleep, he will rise more willingly at four in the morning following. But this sum of ninety-six millions and seventy-five thousand livres is not the whole of what may be saved by my economical project. You may observe, that I have calculated upon only one half of the year, and much may be saved in the other, though the days are shorter. Besides, the immense stock of wax and tallow left unconsumed during the summer, will probably make candles much cheaper for the ensuing winter, and continue them cheaper as long as the proposed reformation shall be supported.

For the great benefit of this discovery, thus freely communicated and bestowed by me on the public, I demand neither place, pension, exclusive privilege, nor any other reward whatever. I expect only to have the honour of it. And yet I know there are little, envious minds, who will, as usual, deny me this and say, that my invention was known to the ancients, and perhaps they may bring passages out of the old books in proof of it. I will not dispute with these people, that the ancients knew not the sun would rise at certain hours; they possibly had, as we have, almanacs that predicted it; but it does not follow thence, that they knew he gave light as soon as he rose. This is what I claim as my discovery. If the ancients knew it, it might have been long since forgotten; for it certainly was unknown to the moderns, at least to the Parisians, which to prove, I need use but one plain simple argument. They are as well instructed judicious, and prudent a people as exist anywhere in the world all professing, like myself, to be lovers of economy; and,from the many heavy taxes required from them by the necessitities of the state, have surely an abundant reason to be economical. I say it is impossible that so sensible a people, under such circumstances, should have lived so long by the smoky, unwholesome, and enormously expensive light of candles, if they had really known, that they might have had as much pure light of the sun for nothing. I am, &c.

A SUBSCRIBER

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