The Rain Racket

Every time it rains, I am reminded of how much of my income over the years has been surrendered to umbrella vendors. Umbrellas aren't disposable, but they might as well be. I don't have the numbers in front of me, but I would suppose that the average lifespan of one of my umbrellas is approximately 1.5 rainfalls. Then, inexplicably, they disappear. Gone... into some interdimensional umbrella vortex, or any one of about seventy lost-and-found boxes: an island of misfit bumbershoots.

Given my predilection for misplacing them, I try to keep umbrella expenditures to a minimum. Thankfully, this isn't hard--there is always a smiling face ready to sell me one on the street. You know how much an umbrella costs on the street? 5 dollars. No matter where you go. 5 dollars. You know what that is? Price collusion. It's against the law. But somehow, umbrella vendors have greased the right pockets and are above the fray. It's a cartel, really, and I would venture it's not limited to rainy environs. I'm sure in more arid climates that parasols run under a similar scheme.

But it is in Rain that the money is made. As I think it over, though, this is not limited to umbrella vendors. I would love to know the profits, over the years, in the galosh game. I'm sure the well of poncho business hasn't run dry. You might think that the weatherman simply miscalculated when he said it was going to rain, but can you be sure? How do we know he's not on the Precipitation Payroll? Don't even get me started on agriculture. Do you think it's a coincidence that our food is almost entirely dependent upon steady rain? In truth, America is addicted to rain.

Of course, maybe I'm just a little bummed out by all the clouds and rain.