It’s such a dreary and drizzly day here. And Californians freak out in the rain. They turn from reasoned (if aggressive) commuters into slippery slidey old folks, creeping along at tiny speeds and following too close. I spent the morning driving in this travesty, only to learn from the radio that a big-rig had overturned ahead and was blocking all but one lane of traffic. The heavy traffic turned into stopped gridlock as the sky poured buckets on my little white car. It took us almost fifteen minutes to move a mile down the road. I clocked in with just seconds to spare before I was penalized for being late. Brian had to drop me off first, which meant he had to also spend his lunch hour picking me up so I could get to job 2 on time. He’s such a good guy sometimes. Okay, oftentimes.
I had been looking forward to this rain. I wasn’t factoring in the commute thing. I pulled my grandmother’s old raincoat out of my closet and wore it to work today. I never realized that it was reversible when she wore it, but it is. Violent green on one side and navy on the other, with pocket flaps on each side of the coat. It was the first real chance I’ve had since my grandfather handed it to me the day he cleaned out the coat closet. I felt like all I really needed was a wide hat and a pair of tap shoes with bows on the ankles, and then I could be Debbie Reynolds. Unfortunately, I’m no Debbie Reynolds. After this morning, I won’t be singing nor will I be dancing in the rain. We still have to drive home after work, still raining, in the deepening dark.
I’m still looking forward to tomorrow, though. I worked Sunday, so I get to have Friday off as a consolation prize. I’ll be able to sit in my warm, four poster bed and listen to the rain fall outside the window. I’ll have time to make myself a pot of Imperial Earl Gray. I won’t have to deal with a bevy of commuters in the rain. That should be much better, right?
Casey E. Hamilton 