Okay, let me tell you about this whole thing with the 311 service here in Indianapolis. It wasn’t exactly rocket science, but it was… an experience, let’s say.
So, there was this pothole. Not just any pothole, mind you. This thing was like a small crater right at the end of my street, the kind that makes you clench everything when you forget it’s there and hit it. For weeks, I just drove around it, grumbled about it, figured someone else would report it, you know how it goes. Typical city stuff, I thought. It’ll get fixed eventually.
Well, ‘eventually’ wasn’t happening. It seemed to be getting bigger, actually. Maybe my imagination, maybe not. Anyway, I finally decided I had to do something myself. Heard folks talking about the Mayor’s Action Center, the 311 number. Sounded straightforward enough.
Making the Call
So one afternoon, I actually picked up the phone and dialed 311. Got the usual automated menus first. Press 1 for this, press 2 for that. Navigated through to report a street issue, I think it was. Then, the hold music. Wasn’t too bad, maybe five minutes?
Finally got a real person on the line. Sounded pleasant enough. I explained the problem: giant pothole, location, how long it’s been there. They asked for:
- The exact address nearest to the pothole.
- Which side of the street it was on.
- How big I thought it was – like, basketball-sized? Bigger?
- My name and number, just in case they needed more info.
I gave them all the details. The person on the phone was typing away, clack clack clack. They gave me a service request number. Said something like, “Okay, we’ve got it logged. The Department of Public Works will assess it.” They gave me a timeframe, can’t remember exactly, maybe 10 business days, something like that, for someone to at least look at it.
Waiting and Watching
Alright, so request logged. Felt like I’d done my civic duty. Now, the waiting game. Every day driving past, I’d look. Any cones? Any trucks? Nope. A week went by. Nothing. Ten business days passed. Still nothing. The crater was still there, mocking me.
I started wondering if my call just went into some black hole. You know, logged in a computer somewhere but maybe nobody actually looks at the list? Or maybe the list is just miles long? Who knows.
Did it Work?
About three weeks after my call, three weeks, I drove down the street and saw… a patch! Not a beautiful, seamless resurfacing job, mind you. It was clearly an asphalt patch, kind of lumpy. But hey, the car-swallowing hole was gone. It wasn’t pretty, but it was filled.
So, did the 311 call work? Yeah, eventually. Was it fast? Not really. Was the fix perfect? Nah. But it’s better than it was. It’s just one of those city things, I guess. You report it, cross your fingers, and hope for the best. Sometimes it works out, even if it takes a while and the result isn’t exactly top-tier craftsmanship. Better than letting the car fall in, right?
