I left for work at 7 am and for my chosen weapon against the elements, I chose the most durable of our collection of umbrellas--a mega golf umbrella with titanium spokes. I exited outside and propped the umbrella aloft. Within 20 steps, the gale force winds off Riverside Drive had already flipped this uber-umbrella inside out three times. I held my umbrella against the elements. I watched in horror as the umbrella's framework started to collapse towards me. The spines of this uber umbrella then snapped and the nylon fabric flayed about my head like a yard of dynamic nylon. I felt like I was trapped in the jib of a sailing vessel. I wrestled with this useless beast as a lone dog walker passed me in the street. He offered helpfully, "That's a useless umbrella!" "Ya think?!?!" I trumpeted back, in sarcastic anger. Typical fucking New Yorker--he ignored me.
By the time I had completed the block, the umbrella was completely and utterly neutered, shattered. I jetted it into a wire mesh trash basket on the corner of Broadway and 155th. I still had three blocks to walk to my parking garage and without any protection.
The rains were unrepentant. The wind howled. I stalked to my garage, head down, fighting the elements. By the time I walked in, my hair was completely drenched, my clothing stuck to me like Saran Wrap, any last drab of make up on my face had been washed away. Oh, what a fucking grand way to kick off the week. I was pissed off.
But in the end, most of the people who came to work were in the same condition. As they say, misery loves company.
I hate umbrellas. I usually cover my head with a hat or scarf, my Mom's rain bonnet, anything to keep my head dry. Of course I arrive with flat hair, but it's usually dry. Trust me, you don't want to see my hair go from wet to dry without a hairdryer (unless I'm on the beach, then who cares?)
ReplyDeleteI share hair hell hair with you, Karen.
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