Umbrellas are things made from Satan. Straight up.
The umbrella I use is one I stole from my mom years ago. It is made by Nautica (fancy, I know) black and red, and the handle looks like at one point it was covered in something sticky and then some weird black substance got stuck to it, and now is covered in this patchy black solid mass. Needless to say, it is a mortifying moment when the handle sticks out of my purse or someone asks me to borrow it to run an errand or something.
Did I mention that one of the metal arms holding my umbrella together is completely exposed, leading me to fear the day that I poke someone’s damn eye out when walking the streets. Which leads me to my next point …
No one knows the proper umbrella etiquette. Listen, I get it, when you’re existing in the city, it is a “go, go go” mentality … and if you dilly dally (yeah I just said that), you will get trampled over by a mob of fast paced cats. Literally. Face down in a puddle. And there is a good chance that something unsavory is all up in there. Mmm hmm. Best keep up.
It gets even worse when it rains because no one wants to get wet, so the pace gets picked up even more. You’re walking down the street in the rain, holding your umbrella, trying to get to point B, when you see someone walking towards you doing the same exact thing. All of a sudden you find yourself in a severe game of chicken thinking, “she’s going to move. She’s totally going to move. Do you see the size of my umbrella? Yep. Moving. She’s going to do it.” But she isn’t. She won’t. You look at the size of the sidewalk, trying to figure out if both umbrellas could fit for a sheer moment in time, side-by-side, but it is impossible. Who. Will. Blink. First.
But no one blinks. In what feels like a slow motion flash, your umbrellas become one, slowly screaming to one another, “nooooooooooooooo,” as you breeze past the girl with rain flying every which way because your umbrella just got abruptly interrupted from its regularly scheduled duties of keeping you dry. I wish I could say this is the only occurrence of a moment like this, but alas, it is only one of many.
People, we all don’t want to get wet. Hence why we are holding umbrellas. We all have places to be, people to see, cocktails to be drank. No one is more important than one another. But when you see someone coming at your holding an umbrella, just like you, make the proper adjustments to not have an umbrella impact. For me I always move because, like I said, I have a sharp piece of metal sticking out of my umbrella and don’t really need to take a person down like that.
Listen, by moving over slightly, you aren’t backing down, you aren’t a wuss or a lesser human soul. You actually rule. The person who doesn’t move, the big almighty street walker thinking they are the shit … suck. Truly, awful people. For shame. Just move. For the love of GOD. It means nothing except you kind of care about the human race, just a tad. Or get poked in the eye by my faulty umbrella … your call.
Umbrellas. The bane of my existence, truthfully. The ones that fit in my purse, all nice and snug are the ones that break, and the over-sized beasts that are trendy and cute are A. overpriced and B. don’t fit in my bag, leading me to carry one more thing I don’t want to. And who wants to pay $50 for an umbrella when you know you will lose it within a couple rainy days.
A piece of advice for me to you, if you are in need of an umbrella and don’t want to pay for one, go to your local watering hole. If you are friendly with the bartender, ask them if they have any umbrellas up for grabs. People drinking equal bye-bye umbrellas. I’m guilty of it. The last thing you want to do when you are half way home, drunk as balls and realize you forgot your umbrella is turn back around to get it. Nope. Not up in here.
But yeah … the umbrella paradise lives at your local watering hole. You’re welcome.