It rained in Southeast Michigan this morning.
A lot.
At one point we were getting 2 inches of rain every half hour.
It's been really dry which is normal for Michigan this time of year. In fact July and August are not without a history of being drought months in the Great Lakes State. We get lectured by the city to stop using so much water obsessing over our lawns, and they often resort to "odd addresses water one day, no one day two, even addresses water the third day" type of rotations.
But when it rains, sometimes it pours.
As you can imagine, umbrellas were an irrelevant fashion accessory this morning. When I got on the bus I noted that we were all equally soaked, even though we all had umbrellas. When it rains like that you can hold your umbrella up, back, centered, off center, doesn't matter. There's just not enough room for all the rain drops to fall straight down and half of them bounce off the other half and it's raining in all directions. The only thing that stays dry is the scalp, a spot on the head right about the size of a yarmulcha. Every one was wet, except one guy in the back of the bus who obviously took great pains to get to the bus stop and get on the bus without getting a drop of water on his new shirt. He was dry as a bone, and enjoying the ride breathing the fresh air coming in through his open window.
Yeah. That guy. The guy that everyone stares at because he insists upon having his window open a crack even though the person next to him is freezing their ass off because his comfort is so much more important than every other one of the 60 people on the bus. Around here, if you know you're being watched by 20 angry adults ... you go to sleep.
So there he was, impeccably dressed, the center of his universe, dry as a bone because he almost certainly hogged the dry spot under the half destroyed bus leanto at his bus stop while, I'm imagining, some poor woman with 6 kids were forced to stand out in the rain. And now he was almost to work, dry, comfortable, every one of his paramount needs met ahead of every one else's and lavishing in the fresh air, eyes close, head resting comfortably against the window frame.
We were almost to the Grand Boulevard stop when our S.M.A.R.T. bus was over taken by a city DOT bus. Now here were two giant vehicles side by side, chugging up Woodward Avenue at 40 miles an hour. Suddenly both buses hit a puddle the size of the Oakland Mall. An enormous fountain of water rose up sandwiched with collosol pressure between the two buses like the crescendo in "Luck Be A Lady" in front of the Bellagio at dinner time.
And there was no where for that 2000 gallons of cold, gritty, filthy Detroit street dirt water to go ... but right in the well dressed man's window. All of it. And it went on and on for 5, maybe 10 seconds. Enough time for everyone on the bus to comment on how unusual that this much water would be coming in a window. There was water cascading down the back of the bus interior, all down along the aisleway, carrying paper cups and old bus tickets with it as it ran. People were gingerly picking up their feet up to the let the 3 inch deep river flow by their seat.
The well dressed man just looked around at everyone on the bus, who were still focusing their attention on the person who refused to close his window and exclaimed, "that is all kinda wrong."
The poor man. He was the wettest man on the bus. And I feel as dry as a bone. Comfy. Dry. And the center of the universe.