Alright, so I had this idea, you know? “The Raincoat Poem.” Sounded kinda neat, right? I figured, why not try to jot something down. So I got out my old notebook, found a pen that still worked, and sat down, ready to get all poetic about raincoats. My goal was simple: write a few lines, maybe a short verse.
I started thinking… what do raincoats really do? They keep you dry, that’s the main thing. They’re supposed to be your shield when the sky decides to throw a tantrum. But then, as I sat there staring at the blank page, my mind just went… poof! Nothing. All I could conjure up was this one specific memory, from way back when, that had pretty much nothing and yet everything to do with a raincoat, or rather, the lack of one initially.
It was when I’d first moved to this big, unfamiliar city. Didn’t know a single soul. I’d landed an interview for a job I really, desperately needed. The kind of job that felt like it could be a real turning point. And, of course, the weather forecast that morning had said something like “a slight chance of afternoon showers.” Slight chance! I scoff at “slight chances” now.
So there I was, all spruced up in my only decent suit, no umbrella, and certainly no raincoat. Why would I need one for a “slight chance”? I got off the bus, still a few blocks from the impressive office building. And then, just like a scene from a bad movie, the heavens opened up. I’m not talking a gentle pitter-patter, folks. This was a full-on, drenching downpour. The kind that soaks you through in about ten seconds flat. My carefully combed hair? Plastered to my forehead. My suit? It looked like I’d decided to take a quick dip in a pool with it on. And the important documents I had in my thin briefcase? They were quickly turning into a sad, pulpy mess.
I remember huddling under this ridiculously small shop awning, shivering, feeling like the world’s biggest fool. Everyone else seemed to be rushing by with these huge umbrellas and proper raincoats, looking all dry and sorted. I just wanted the pavement to open up and swallow me. I felt so utterly defeated before I even stepped foot into that interview.
Well, you can probably guess how that interview went. I walked in looking like something the cat dragged in, and then dragged through a puddle. The interviewer was polite, trying not to stare, but you could see that look in their eyes. Total write-off. Who’s going to hire the dishevelled guy who can’t even manage to show up dry?
A few days later, still feeling pretty down, and my wallet feeling even lighter, I was browsing a discount store. And there it was: a bright, almost offensively yellow raincoat. It was cheap, plasticky, and probably screamed “I have no fashion sense!” to anyone who saw it. But I bought it. It was probably the best ten bucks I spent that entire year.
- That ugly yellow raincoat became my trusty sidekick.
- It saw me through countless other rainy days while I kept on with the job hunt.
- It shielded me from more than just rain; it felt like a thin layer against all the rejections.
- And yes, it was the raincoat I was wearing, a bit crumpled but doing its job, the day I finally walked out of an office with a job offer in my hand.
So, when I sat down trying to write “The Raincoat Poem,” I wasn’t really thinking about elegant metaphors or perfect rhymes anymore. My mind was stuck on that hideous yellow raincoat. It made me think about how, sometimes, the things that truly protect you, the things that get you through the rough patches, aren’t always pretty or sophisticated. They’re just practical. They just work.
Maybe the real “raincoat poem” isn’t about the raincoat itself, but about what it represents. Maybe it’s about remembering to be prepared, or learning that you can actually weather the storm, even if you get soaked a few times. Or perhaps it’s just a simple story about a really crummy day, a cheap piece of plastic, and eventually finding your footing. I never did manage to write that poem. But sharing this memory? That feels like I got something done anyway.
