Monday, March 28, 2011

The Day That God's Plumbing Backed Up.

Today started when I woke up. Today started five minutes later. As I rolled in my bed, regretting the eventual early rise to my first school day in ten days, I heard a pitter patter on the roof. It was not long until my ears registered the pitter as rain and the patter as more rain. There was also an undertone of putter, which the sort of rain that puddles, and petter and potter, which are those annoying rain drops which hit you and stick, like leeches.
Under eight times the force of gravity, I stood and prepared for a terrible day. The weight of water above made me feel waterlogged. I bet the feeling I had when I stepped out into that torrent was something akin to the feeling one who lives in a submarine feels when he realizes “oh yeah, I’m underwater.” I swam to my car, opened the door, got in, and proceeded to bail water for the next five minutes. Once I got out of the improvised lake my driveway became, the drive out of the subdivision made me remember exactly why I disliked rain. I felt safe enough to worry about the world around me, and I noticed I couldn’t. The windshield was covered in a solid wall of water at least an inch thick. My wipers at the supersonic setting couldn’t break the water barrier, apparently.
As was such, I drove for a very long time fifteen miles below the speed limit. Oddly, nobody raised much of a fuss. In a state which is know for people running to the front of an ending lane and cutting in ten feet before the end, this came as a shock.
The other cars were going at the speed I was going at, which, at one point, was float. Synchronized automobile floating wasn’t too popular a sport, and nobody had much experience. Two people were DQ’d by curb, though everyone else narrowly avoided such a fate. Anticlimactically, the excitement of three-ton bumper cars ended very fast, for the stretch only lasted several hundred feet.
This would have been the perfect time for someone to start calling the end of the earth, though I doubt anybody would have seen through the curtains of rain. Then again, there might have been somebody. I guess we’ll never know.
<Insert distasteful joke about Japanese tsunamis in Georgia here>
To be honest, even alluding to a joke about the tsunami is distasteful.
The rest of the drive followed suit with the forty days and nights of Noah. I got to school, and I’ll be nothing if it wasn’t a half bad day at school. (Though, as i looked up at the end of the day, i saw the sky was still filled with holy sewage.)

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