While navigating these menacing seasonal road troughs has become a tradition in the same fun category as doing our taxes, there’s another phenomenon that goes unnoticed and may not get its due.
A pothole face is the reflexive facial expression that occurs when your chariot crashes beautifully along our arteries. Just as there is an endless variety of potholes, so is our range of goggles that reflect the reactions of road conditions.
The typical face of potholes is one of grim tolerance as the soundtrack of kathunks and whoomps lurk in the background. There’s the one where your eyebrows reach the top of your head and your lower jaw bounces off your kneecaps when you hit a huge one out of the blue.
If it wasn’t the start of spring, you’d swear you got struck by lightning and maybe Thor’s hammer and he was playing for good.
There’s the rare pothole face like the one I experienced yesterday. I saw the vehicle in front of me tremble in pain, then an entire family of pothole canyons revealed themselves with terrifying majesty, yawning in lazy arrogance, entitled to their next sacrificial offering.
It was one of those moments in life when you see your bank account flash before your eyes. It will hurt and there is no way out. With my primal instinct, I directed a course correction of desperate hope and hung on. What happened? Nothing. Sailed through them. Pure cream. A true pothole miracle. Terror then vertigo of relief. I donated plasma soon after because clearly with some sort of cosmic billing service I had to.
Which brings us to a kind of pothole face playing with fire. There you are, as an innocent passenger, and your partner comes across a big pothole. Though you know better, you turn your head and shoot the accusing stare of “Did you even try to miss that one?” No. Do not do it.
It is indeed pothole season, but where I live is the playoffs and everyday is game 7. Game on!