When I Lay My 'Brella Down

Artist's Recreation

I lost my umbrella today. Again. It’s the second one I’ve misplaced in as many months (thankfully there was virtually no rain over the summer otherwise I’d probably be at 6 and counting). It was exactly the same model as the last one, not terribly expensive but not one of those three Euro numbers they sell on the street. It had some heft and it was reliable. I had done an all day tour with a couple from Virginia and after I loaded them into their cab back to the hotel, I settled onto one of the slabs of ruin that dot the grounds around Trajan’s column to rest my weary feet. I remember tossing down the umbrella and slinging my day pack off my shoulder. I probably sat for ten minutes or so before heading home and I suspect that was where I left it. I didn’t discover the loss until it started to rain and I began fishing around in my day pack looking for it and could only come up with juice boxes and fruit roll-ups or whatever it is I carry in that thing.
Now the worst time to realize that you’ve lost your umbrella is when it starts to rain, but I suspect that it’s also the most common. It’s also the kind of thing that tends to infuriate me because, a) it’s one of those dumb little things that can’t be undone and b) I tend to be a little on the reactive side. Now the down side to that is that I can have a perfectly good day undone by an inopportune broken shoelace but the upside is that a lousy day can be erased by a really good sunset (or chocolate chip cookie for that matter). It’s not a trait I’m particularly proud of but, well, there it is.
This time it didn’t bother me. I had just had one of those days that could have gone and seemed to go either way a number of times and consistently found itself in the exact opposite quadrant to the one where I thought it was headed. It was a good working example of the Chinese farmer story. (You know the story. Chinese farmer’s horse runs off in the night. Everybody in town says “What lousy luck.” Farmer says “too soon to tell.” Next day horse comes back being trailed by two wild ponies. Everybody in town says “What great luck.” Farmer says “Too soon to tell.” Next day the farmer’s son tries to saddle break one of the horses and breaks his collarbone. Everybody in town says… You get the idea.)
The day actually started the night before or actually a couple of days before that when I looked at my work schedule and realized I could point to the exact moment when the tourist season would end. Most of October was busy, as busy as July, but then somewhere in its last week, it all came to a crashing halt and judging by my schedule, I was, for all intents and purposes, unemployed. Now I like time off as well as the next the next guy but I can’t afford to stay over here if there’s no money coming in and I was, if not panicked, at least concerned. I went to sleep making a mental list of all the things I wanted to do before being forced to make a premature return to the states.
I awoke, however, to my Blackberry chiming that a text had come in. It had been sent last night but apparently took a few hours to work itself through the bunker-like concrete walls of my apartment building. (This is a not uncommon feature of Roman buildings and, for optimal reception, cell phones spend as much time sitting on window sills as they do in pockets and purses.) Anyway, it was a message from our scheduler asking me to take a Colisseum tour. A rush of relief washed over me. Maybe I’m not unemployed yet and can stop mentally packing. I immediately shot back a reply in the affirmative only to get a response saying that they got somebody else when I didn’t respond last night. Dag. But before I could get to upset, my Blackberry started to ring. It was the office calling, the booking office this time and they needed me for a couple who want a private tour. Bingo and a reprieve. I hopped in the shower, threw on some clothes and dashed out the door.
It was raining, one of those cold seeping rains that can only be truly appreciated from beneath a down comforter and accompanied by the knowledge that you don’t need to go anywhere. It really doesn’t fit so well with a three hour outdoor tour, spectacular ruins or not, but, well, whatareyougonnado?
So I popped open my umbrella and headed down the hill to the piazza where our tours begin. I checked in with the coordinator and…more good news (a hint of sarcasm creeps in). The Colosseum maintenance workers were on strike until 1:00. Italy has a lot of strikes but they are usually announced ahead of time and rarely last more than a day. No one seems to know what this one was about. Undoubtedly, shorter work hours and bigger paychecks play into it but as to specifics, who knows?
Anyway, the folks who are waiting for their group tour get reassigned to a later tour and filter off. The group guides go home. The coordinator and I chat for a bit but I know he wants to leave as well because it’s almost 10 and he can do that. I, on the other hand, will wait for my couple. Private tours get a one hour grace period, but private tours also have a tendency not to show up when the weather’s bad so I’m not optimistic. I also know from experience that standing alone under your umbrella in a pouring rain and an empty piazza tends to make one question one’s life choices. At least it does me. Did I mention that I wasn’t feeling optimistic?
I look at the coordinator and he’s clearly had enough. It’s cold and rainy, the colosseum is closed, everybody’s reassigned. His work is done and he starts to pack up. At that instance, my couple shows up. Wet and a little flustered looking. The coordinator apprises them of the situation and they look a little concerned for a moment and then she lets out a big laugh. They think this is a riot. Then she turns to me and says something along the lines of “If we pay you enough, can you show us some stuff until the place opens.” and suddenly, things are looking up.
So we walked around for a while. I showed them Michelangelo’s Moses (by the way, if you ever come to Rome, don’t miss this. It’s in a church called Peter in Chains (San Pietro in Vincoli) which is not far from the Colosseum but a little out of the way and, unfortunately, often overlooked.), the Pantheon, some Caravaggios. Somewhere along the way it stopped raining. We grabbed some lunch in the Jewish Ghetto (the couple identified themselves as foodies and I’d been meaning to have a meal there for a while myself). And speaking of that couple, they were a ball. She was, and I believe this is the correct technical term, a pistol, funny, direct, irreverent. He was a little older and calmer, but clearly both amused and in love with his wife. Rain or no, it was a great time and, and here”s the kicker, it was my job. I was getting paid for this, maybe not much but it wasn’t a bad deal.
Lunch was great, artichokes Roman style (fried in a fair amount of olive oil and tastier than you would imagine), large and light semolina gnocchi, and a tuna and tahini dish. The restaurant fit in perfectly with the current version of the day’s mood. The woman, bemoaning a recent dearth of vegetables in her diet, had started out by ordering just a large salad. The waiter (the Egyptian waiter) just laughed and when pressed responded “You come all the way to Rome. You come to the Jewish Ghetto, and you order a salad. You can get that anywhere.” Both agreed that he was right and ordered something a little more regional.
Afterward, we wandered over to the Colosseum and such for the actual tour and, I think, it was a bit of a letdown after the morning. The sky started to leak a bit but it was mild compared to the earlier deluge and we soldiered on. Finally, after their feet were sore and their heads could contain no more arcane information about gladiators and ancient Rome, I settled them in a cab and away they went.
And that brings me back to where I started, which certainly wasn’t how I expected things to end. I sat down for a few minutes to rest my feet and when I got up, I walked away from my umbrella. No big deal. Certainly nothing to get upset about. I can get another one. Days like this don’t come along that often…and hopefully I can remember that.