5:49 p.m. - November 11, 2004
As soon as the train entered the city and I pulled out the umbrella, put away my book, and got ready to exit the train at the third station (that'd be Powell), my seatmate grabbed my umbrella right off my lap and got off the train. A stranger stole my umbrella and dim, dull-witted me, said nothing more than huh? before the doors closed and the train went on. And wouldn't you know it, it was pouring and windy so the block walk left me drenched. So pitiful a sight that a woman angled her umbrella over me when I had to stand at the corner waiting for a light to change but by then it was too late. Arrived at the office and ducked into a bathroom to use paper towels in a vain attempt to dry myself off. The one time I gladly enter a public restroom and there isn't a hot-air dryer - how's that for chagrin?
Fast forward. Train pulls into the home station and - guess what? - it's pouring down. The Cherokee was parked in E2, otherwise known as that quadrant where Jesus lost his shoe. Drenched yet again.
Damn umbrella thief. There is absolutely no courtesy left in this world.