Not to bitch: I know that there's a drought. I'm not complaining... Ok, I am complaining, but not about of the rain per se, but about the per idiot capita. People in Spain react all kinds of ways to bad weather, and most of them just do the wrong thing.
The highway is packed right up to my doorstep, balerina ambulances skid in the drizzle and there are cars perched up on the sidewalk, warning lights glaring. All in all, Independance Day without Will Smith or sexy substitute to save the day and it's not even pouring, just raining a little. This is all plain hard to understand: I mean, every single car on the street has windshield wipes, it's illegal not to. We are all wearing jeans and waterproof coats. More than 50% of people out there today are wearing waterproof shoes (Spanish shoes are just not designed for this, and the crappy Chineese ones I wear are even worst). So what's the big deal! Button up and go take the bus.
No. It doesn't happen. Everyone takes the car. The road is crammed, everyone arrives late to work and there's no parking, so the car drivers get wet anyway walking the 2 miles from where they managed to park the car to their office. They even get to play poke-the-eye with other street-walkers with umbrellas (I'm short and I don't carry an umbrella so I'm an easy victim... but you don't see me driving a car). They get to the office miserable and wet, but at least they suffered inside their contaminating private properties.
I huddle in the back of the bus, clutching my issue of Shimmer magazine (the e-version which I've printed off the computer) trying not to get it wet. It's not easy: my coat is wet, my pants are wet, my hair is wet and I'm sweaty everywhere else. The margins start getting grey smudgy fingerprints. I try to get my paws off the letters. Then I start reading, and...