It was a cold and dreary late September morning. Light rain drizzled from the grey skies. It’s the only kind of weather that makes me hate walking to work.
“Can’t we just call an Uber?” I whined to my boyfriend, Ant, as we exited the building and stood under the front awning.
“Nah, we don’t have to.” He stepped out into the open sidewalk and declared, “it’s barely raining.”
He was right. I reluctantly followed behind him, proud of myself for actually grabbing my blue umbrella from the closet shelf this morning. Actually, I hadn’t grabbed it, but I had requested for it to be grabbed by Ant. Nonetheless, I was pretty proud of myself for actually having an umbrella. This was the first time in the two years I’d been walking to work that I actually brought one.
The truth is, I hate umbrellas. I recognize that they’re an irrational thing to hate. I don’t even have a good reason. I just hate them. I hate the way you have to hold your arm at nearly a 90 degree angle to carry them. It seems silly. I hate how they get blown away so easily in the wind. They’re a struggle. I even hate the look of them. I don’t know. I’m just not an umbrella person.
I hadn’t even purchased the one I was carrying myself. I’d borrowed it from the school’s lost and found when it was raining particularly hard a few weeks back. I had sucked up my hatred of umbrellas then and resolved to walk home with one. It was okay. This time was worse.
“My arm hurts,” I grumbled. Ant smiled and rolled his eyes. When the wind blew strongly, he looked back to check to make sure I was okay. I was. My umbrella held up pretty strong against the wind, in fact.
When Ant and I parted ways, I was actually starting to come around to the whole umbrella carrying thing. I was relatively dry, except my feet. But I wasn’t wearing socks or closed shoes, so my feet would be fine. I held my head up a little higher, and I realized that Ant was probably right about not wasting money on an Uber that morning.
Then a rogue truck rushed down Olde Street at full speed and drove through a huge puddle beside the sidewalk. My umbrella was of no assistance in the matter. A wave of dirty street water washed over my face, shirt and pants from below. That damn blasted good for nothing mother effing umbrella stood promptly above my head. I exchanged a glance of mortification with the teenager who had also been in way of the wave. We then hung our heads in mutual pity and continued on with our walks.
Next time it rains, I’m taking an Uber to work.