Taylor Tobin (The Beacon)
By Taylor Tobin, Guest Commentary
Staff Commentary
I was walking somewhere around 6th and Burnside when it hit me. It was not the rain currently pouring from the sky, it was not the extent to which I had procrastinated writing that essay, and no, it was not even one of the seventeen bikers that had passed me within the last half-block. It was the evil glares of the hipster passersby that were telling me one thing: my umbrella is not welcome here.
Coming from the Seattle area, I would get a few scoffs or eye-rolls from those who could brave the torrential downpour with just one very-broken-in rain jacket. But I continued to skip along happily with my polka-dot umbrella, despite their annoyance.
In Portland, however, I can't just shake off the looks I receive. They are from everyone! Moms and dads shield their baby's eyes as I walk by them, teenagers point and laugh. Some even look at me as if I have The Dark Mark stamped on my forearm! And I receive all of this hate just for holding a harmless, water-repellant bubble above my head. Something needs to be done.
I am here to tell you that if you have an umbrella, and you are not afraid to use it, stand with me. Press that "open" button. Or, if you are more old-fashioned, attempt to pry that piece of metal into its slot. Hold your umbrella high!
Because, as all of us umbrella-sporters know, the joke is not on us. The joke is on those who will wear that rain jacket until the zipper breaks.
They easily drop $100 or more for their jackets that keep the rain off of their head and torso, while we spend less than $10 on an umbrella that shields our entire body and a friend. They will sport what I like to call hood-hair for the rest of the day, while you will look as if you just stepped out of the salon door. And you know they will suffer from the soaked-jeans waddle, while we will strut along, looking fabulous under our personal cover.
So, next time I see someone struggling to place their soaked plastic jacket in an appropriate place in a restaurant, I will not chuckle at them, but I will feel pity for them. When I see someone painfully squinting as their face takes the wrath of the continuous showers of the Northwest, I will offer them a spot under my umbrella. Because deep down inside, all those umbrella haters know that they are miserable, and I want to help them.
I love my umbrella, and I'm holding it high.
Taylor Tobin is a freshman business major. She can be reached at tobint16@up.edu
