Rain of My Existence

Going to class on the Metro three days a week, I realize that there will be some changes in my commuting environment. I can’t sit in a comfortable chair. Music is limited to whatever mp3s are shuffled through my Dell DJ. And if I choose to yell at a fellow commuter for his stupidity, there’s a much better chance he actually hears my complaint. (Note to self: if Hefty McBiceps cuts you off in line for the escalator, just let it go. Let it go.)

But the most drastic change comes with the weather. And yesterday, the weather decided to let me know just who’s boss. The DC area got its first taste of winter chill last night, as the temperature dropped as cold as a monkey in a snowstorm. Honestly, I’m ok with that (the temp drop, not the freezing of our primate friends). I wear a warm coat to work, and I walk with my hands in my pockets. Furthermore, the Metro is a comfortable 95 degrees year-round. However, there was once other element that Mother Nature decided to add to the equation.

It wasn’t freezing rain. But damn, that rain was freezing.

Faced with a 6 block walk to class on E Street, I was not pleased to see what I saw coming up the epic-length escalated at Foggy Bottom. I first realized I was in trouble when I saw those entering the Metro station drying off and closing their umbrellas like Noah’s Ark had hit an iceberg. My hopes of a dry walk decreased when I turned the corner and saw “Caution: Wet Floor” signs dotting the entrance way. I lost the will to live when I looked up at the sky.

Now it wasn’t a thunderstorm that greeted me on the corner of 23rd and G. A key ingredient of thunderstorms is no doubt thunder, and unless the mild roar of four thousand people on their cell phones drowned it out, I didn’t hear a single clap. No, this was just rain. Cold, continuous, driving rain. Most people, on our elevation to street level, prepared for the coming precipitation. Standard stuff – putting away newspapers, opening umbrellas, buttoning up waterproof coats. And as the escalator took me closer to the skyflood, I stood. Helpless.

Wearing a wool coat and not carrying anything resembling an umbrella, I got dumped on. For six long blocks, all I could do was star at the ground, keep my hands in my pockets, and pray I don’t step in puddles. Now for anyone who happened to be in a similar predicament yesterday, YAB would like to present some “Lost in the Rain” safety tips. Who said we don’t write for the public?

1 – It absolutely slays me when waiting for a traffic light to change, people try to dry off by brushing water off of their head or clothes, like it’s going to make some monumental change in how wet you are. They spend so much effort trying to get their hair dry when they are no doubt another 10 minutes from their destination. Now your hands are wet, too, and that will come into play when you call your friend on your cell phone to tell her it’s raining. A cell phone in a slippery hand might as well be a lost phone in street drain. Butterfingers.

2 – Those who walk with umbrellas on city streets have a limited view of the world around them. The overhang of the umbrella (no matter how you pronounce it, Sathro) obscures your peripheral vision. Keep this in mind. Your overall width has increased, and you suddenly require more sidewalk without touching even a single slice of funnel cake. Translation: spaces you thought you can fit into in the past are closed for entry now. If you fail to realize this, you’ll be rudely awakened when a tall kid with an MBA bookbag and no umbrella gets smacked in the face by your water deflection unit. Only when it rains does the rest of the world realize how hard it is to live with the width of my shoulders.