90% Chance of Poor Decisions

It started with one tiny raindrop.

I was walking home carrying a coffee, wearing shoes that had absolutely no business being outdoors, when a single drop landed on my arm.

“No big deal,” I thought.

The sky heard me.

Apparently, this was a challenge.

Within approximately four seconds, the heavens opened with the enthusiasm of someone dumping a swimming pool off a roof.

There was no gentle transition. No polite drizzle. One moment I was dry, and the next I was starring in a low-budget disaster movie called Woman Makes Poor Footwear Choices.

Naturally, I had no umbrella.

I did, however, have a coffee.

Priorities.

I tucked the coffee under my shirt and started running.

This accomplished two things.

First, it protected the coffee.

Second, it made me look like I was fleeing the scene of a crime while smuggling a very small, extremely hot baby.

I spotted a bus shelter about half a block away.

Salvation.

I sprinted toward it.

My left shoe immediately filled with water.

Squish.

Squish.

Squish.

Every step sounded like I had a frog trapped in my sneaker.

Then a car drove through a puddle.

You know that moment in movies when everything goes into slow motion?

I saw the car.

I saw the puddle.

The driver saw me.

Our eyes met.

There was an understanding between us.

Surely, they would slow down.

They did not.

A tidal wave hit me from the knees down.

I stood there dripping.

The driver gave me the little apology wave.

THE WAVE.

That tiny hand gesture people use when they’ve just destroyed your entire afternoon.

“Oh, that’s okay!” I yelled after them. “I DIDN’T WANT DRY PANTS ANYWAY!”

The rain intensified.

I resumed running.

The bus shelter was getting closer.

Twenty feet.

Ten feet.

Five feet.

And then my shoe slipped.

I did not fall.

I performed what I can only describe as an aggressive interpretive dance.

Arms everywhere.

Coffee airborne.

One leg briefly pointing toward Manitoba.

Somehow, I stayed upright.

The coffee did too.

I whispered, “We ride together, we die together.”

That’s when I noticed the elderly woman standing inside the bus shelter.

She had witnessed everything.

She was holding an enormous umbrella.

She looked at me.

I looked at her.

She looked at my coffee.

“Saved the important thing,” she said.

“Barely.”

I stepped into the shelter looking like I’d just been retrieved from the bottom of Lake Ontario.

My hair was plastered to my forehead.

My shirt was stuck to my body.

My mascara had migrated somewhere near my chin.

My shoes were making aquatic noises.

But my coffee?

Perfect.

The elderly woman looked me over.

“You know,” she said, “they said there was a 90 percent chance of rain today.”

“I like to live dangerously.”

She nodded.

“I can see that.”

Then the bus arrived.

Finally.

Warmth.

Shelter.

Civilization.

The doors opened.

The woman stepped aboard.

I followed her.

The driver held out his hand.

“Fare?”

I reached into my pocket.

And froze.

My wallet wasn’t there.

I checked the other pocket.

Nothing.

Jacket.

Nothing.

Panic.

Then I remembered.

My wallet was in my backpack.

My backpack was sitting beside my desk.

At work.

The bus driver stared at me.

The elderly woman stared at me.

I stared at the universe.

The universe had clearly been waiting for this moment.

“Never mind,” I whispered.

I stepped back off the bus.

Into the rain.

The doors closed.

The bus drove away.

Through a puddle.

SPLASH.

The elderly woman stared at me through the window with genuine horror.

I stood there completely drenched, holding my coffee.

At this point, there was only one thing left to do.

I raised it toward the departing bus like a champagne glass.

“To poor decisions!”

Then I started walking.

Squish.

Squish.

Squish.

And that was the day I learned two valuable lessons:

Always check the weather forecast.

And if you’re going to make terrible decisions, at least protect the coffee. ☕🌧️😂