Join a Whine Club and educate yourself about fine living

Forget everything I said about Wednesday being the worst day of the year. Thursday was worse, and today is worse still.

You know, people don’t like you when you arrive on the scene spewing fluids. And I mean spewing, not dripping. The nice civilized people are all indoors and toasty warm and dry, and then you show up like a wet dog about to shake itself. Of course I don’t do that, but that’s the expectation -- you can feel everyone in the area recoiling in anticipation of shared dampness. Today I stopped by to get allergy shots on my way across town, and I could tell exactly what everyone was thinking.

“Oh please,” thought the receptionist. “Would you mind not dripping all over the paperwork?”

“Ew!” thought the people in the waiting room. “You’re all wet. Don’t sit next to me!”
and
“Yuk! You’re going to drip all over my magazine.”

Indeed, a wet cyclist needs a row of three or four chairs just to dismantle herself. I try to choose a row off by itself, when possible. I need places to put down my day’s cargo, plus my jacket and my helmet, and lastly, my own but (which I’m spelling with a single “t” on purpose for enhanced refinement). After I leave, even if I've managed not to drench other people, no one else can sit in any of the chairs I used unless they don’t mind getting all soggy.

Oregon buildings need special drying halls for people coming in out of the rain. There could be two big fuzzy rollers you walk through as you enter a building – sort of like you see in carwashes, only for people. That’s my proposal for the day to make life more conducive to biking.

I’m out of time. I’m still going to tell you about my fabulous rain pants, but that’ll have to be tomorrow (though since I rarely post on Saturdays, it might be Monday). I used up today’s time slot for a much needed whine. Thanks for listening!