Today marked the passing of a dear friend and steadfast companion. He protected me through difficult times, giving up his comfort and rest so that I could have a pleasant and carefree existance. He never asked much, just a quiet place to rest and dry, and was always ready to go to work.
Today, on a wind and rainswept Cambridge St, my Totes compact umbrella succumbed after a short illness, he was 12 years old. He was purchased at a K-Mart in Nashua NH and served gallantly in both NH and MA. A brief funeral service was held at a trashcan near the Legal Seafoods in Kendall Sq. He is survived by a WBUR membership golf umbrella.
Damn, and here I was all set to offer you my condolences. Instead, I’m just going to ask what made you think you should open up an umbrella in this wind. WBUR clearly stated that today would be wicked windy with Wilma passing off the coast.
Sorry to hear of your loss, Telemark. 12 years is a long time for an umbrella - he lived a long and useful life.
I also lost a dear friend yesterday. For three years he never left my side, travelling all over with me, going for jaunts down the road, spending every second at work with me, staying up late nights watching TV. He improved my life by teaching me to enjoy drinking water and convinced me to go from drinking 0 cups of water a day to 9.
The Schul Man, as we affectionately called my water bottle - the sexy blue molded bottle with a corporate superhero stuck to it’s side - was killed in a freak accident involving leaping from the roof of my car in the middle of a busy intersection.
Now he rolls around aimlessly somewhere between my church and my bowling alley, perhaps too plucky to be crushed. I have already notified those close to me that if they see Schul Man on the street it’s not because I was in a car accident. He just wanted to be free.
The heartless bitch that I am, I have already moved on to his twin brother, also named Schul Man. They are completely identical except for the mold.
And yet, somehow, I feel partially responsible for his demise. True, the winds were blowing at a steady 30MPH with much higher gusts, but he’s always been a trooper about things. I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to dwell on the facts of his passing, but to celebrate the joy of approaching winter. Godspeed lil’ buddy.
I never met an umbrella that I didn’t like and, therefore, respectfully request that I might be able to mourn along with you.
A guy I used to work with kept the same ballpoint pen for at least 17 years, maybe more now as I’ve not seen him in 20 years or so. Weird, that’s the one thing I remember about him; not even his name, just that dedgum ever-present pen.
I hate to play devil’s advocate, but good. There are too many damn umbrellas in the world, and I wouldn’t be suprised if they had a hand in global warming. Think of all the patches of needy soil that are being momentarily starved of a much needed rainstorm just because some asshat doesn’t want to wreck his hairdo.
To top it off, do you really think any umbrellas are made in the USA anymore? Hell no. The United States umbrella imbalance is now near 100%. An imbalance that will ultimately rest on our children, and our children’s children, as suppliers see the opportunity and jack up the price of umbrellas to $2,000.
When I was young, grown men were man enough to use chunks of cardboard or newspapers to protect their coifs. It was a better time them. There weren’t gang problems, meth, crack, or AIDS. We need to get rid of the umbrella menace if we hope to ever move our country forward again.
