October 7, 2018

If you don’t live in a place where the weather changes in extremes, this may not be something that will resonate with you. But if, like millions of people around the world (but especially in northern North America), you happen to have planted yourself in a place where the roads can literally melt in the summer, then turn around and deeply fracture with the cold six months later, this is a story you’ll want to hear.

Last winter was terrible in Calgary and it probably seemed as though everywhere road surfaces were coming apart. Cracks and fissures–the symptom of a freeze-thaw-freeze-thaw cycle that is pretty much out of everyone’s control (lest we get our asses in gear and do something about climate change, but even then I’m pretty sure we won’t be avoiding what many of us sarcastically refer to as “pothole season” around here).

There was a road, for example, a main east-west thoroughfare through the city (I’ll give you a hint: this is a road that starts in Newfoundland and ends on Vancouver Island) where a significant stretch of it had holes-big holes-in it for weeks. You’ve heard the saying “a mile wide and an inch deep”? That’s what this stretch of about 200 meters (that’s just over a tenth of a mile) looked like (except it was way deeper than an inch), and every morning as I passed by in the other lane (because I knew it was there), I watched cars veer and swerve or, if they didn’t know it was coming, bump their way through this very rugged and very damaging stretch of road. And every day I wondered three things: a) how many cars have been seriously damaged by this; b) hasn’t anyone called the city about this (hmmm, on reflection, I guess I could have…); and c) then why doesn’t it get fixed?

One morning I noticed it was patched, but I have to say, I think that day was probably six to even eight weeks from when I first noticed the broken blacktop.

I only had to drive over the area once to make the deviation to the left lane-that’s usually all it takes to remember what not to do. But that’s if you know it’s coming…

Travel back to May of this year… it was late on a Wednesday afternoon, closing in on dinnertime. I was heading over to my favourite salon to get my nails done and had  just crossed a major intersection when

BAM!  BANG! PFFFFFT…

I hit something, really, really hard. I heard a loud hiss and pulled into the parking lot directly on my right which was, coincidentally and fortunately, exactly where I was headed. I put the car in park and got out to look, not exactly sure I wanted to see what had happened.

There, on the passenger side of the car, both of my tires were dead or dying; one was completely flat and the other had a massive bubble in the wall and was clearly fatally wounded. What the hell did I hit?!

I looked out on the road, and there was a depression–not a pothole exactly, but rather a long rut in the right hand lane on the right hand side. Long enough that both of my tires hit the hole just so… just so they both blew up. I figured it came from the large city buses that pulled into the stop just before it, as they slowly pulled away—especially in the summer months when the asphalt is softer than usual.

Well, shit. Summer tires I had just put on and had balanced. Worse than that-good, expensive, brand wheels. Had I damaged them or some other part of my car? It wasn’t looking good.

I called, in order, the city, my insurance company (probably not worth the deductible increase), and the auto club for a tow, which would come in 12 to 14 hours… are you freaking kidding me?? Then I got my nails done, because what else was I going to do?

The ladies in the shop all commiserated with me and said I wasn’t the first to hit the hole and I wouldn’t be the last. Small comfort in that.

I ended up taking the bus home.

2:00 AM the next morning, the tow truck finally came; yes, I went home in between and convinced the kid to come back out with me for a ride home. The car needed a flatbed, which I guess was part of the wait, and of course I needed to be there. We took the car to the tire place.

Five hours later, I’m back at the tire place, learning that because of the wear (which wasn’t too significant, but wear nonetheless) and the brand of my car (yeesh), I’m going to need four new tires, not two.

Four tires. The cheapest available, balance and alignment… almost $1100. Not how I was expecting to spend my money in May.

Over the next few days, I chatted with a city claims representative to see how to get some compensation for falling into their hole and exploding my tires. I talked with a guy, who basically told me it wasn’t going to happen–that the city has a rationale for not reimbursing people for this sort of situation (well, I suppose if they reimbursed everyone, they’d go broke. That would be one good rationale, I suppose).  I posted my sad tale on Facebook and was actually surprised at the number of people who had had the same thing happen, many who’d attempted claims against the city to no avail.

But I was certainly going to give it a shot.

So I filled out the form, told my sad story, submitted some pictures and my receipts, and waited.

Late July, a letter arrives: Nope, sorry, shit out of luck, no reimbursement for you. Nothing at all. Go away. The reason: the hole had been temporarily repaired at an earlier date and too bad for you that you fell in a newly opened hole. Sucks to be you, sorry, bye.

Humph.

So I wrote a letter back and asked for the following, suggesting I was happy to file a Freedom of Information request if required (called Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy in Canada; when you make a request for public information, you are FOIP-ing someone or something).

This is what I actually wrote I needed them to provide before I’d go away:

“Any information on claims made about damage caused by the subject area in the road from September 1, 2017, until the time the City made repairs to the area, which your letter states was completed sometime prior to the damage to my car;

The date the temporary repair was made to the roadway;

Any information on claims made about damage caused between the time the temporary repair was made and the filed claim of my incident;

Any information on claims made between the time my claim was filed and the subsequent patching of the area;

The date the area was repaired following my claim.“

(Doesn’t it sound like I know what I’m talking about? Or that I watch Judge Judy?)

Well, no response to that at all. So just two weeks ago I sent a follow up, asking if there was something more required of me to gather this info prior to them going to the trouble of satisfying my FOIP request, and I received a call back not ten minutes later, which I let go to voicemail. Could I call back right away? Well, yes, yes I could.

Our conversation began as we discussed how the city collects its data–two very different numbers from the initial line to get the claim number (as many people as call; each gets a case number but not all file) and the city road stats–one hole, one location, one set of claims.

Things move from there to my mentioning that I am lucky my wheels were not damaged or the undercarriage of my car and who knows what that would have cost, to well, you know asking for reimbursement for the whole amount for four new tires was unreasonable to I understand that but that’s what it cost me to fix this and it could probably have been worse but I am being pretty reasonable here, to well, we wouldn’t buy you brand new tires, and certainly not four, to but I don’t care, you’re mean and you’re making me mad and I might just cry (OK, I didn’t say that last part)… to

How about if we prorate two of the tires and pay for your balancing and all of the taxes?

Wait, what? Did I just win, kind of?

(sound of calculator clicking)

509 dollars? Oh, and 51 cents?

Capital D capital E capital A capital L. Deal. Yeah.

The check came on Friday and was in the bank on Saturday morning.

The adjuster made it clear that this is not the norm–that 98% of claims are rejected. So I guess that makes me part of the 2%.

My advice? Go ahead-–fight City Hall! You can win. Stay calm, stay smart, FOIP ’em to death, stay polite but firm, and be ready to logically argue your case.

What have you got to lose? $509.51. That’s what.

Score one for the little guy.