The Karma Umbrella

Back in 1996, I drove the car my Dad gave me—a 1990 Oldsmobile Eighty-Eight. It was the Cadillac of automobiles, let me tell you. Built like a tank, but it handled very smoothly as long as you started to make your turn 100 yards before the turn itself. I loved it and drove it hard. Hard enough that the tires went bald.

Heading to work on rainy mid-morning (give me a break, it was a pre-bubble Internet company), I was in the left lane, traveling west on Route 2, a few miles out of Cambridge, MA. I was going too fast in general, as was my way at the time, but it was much too fast for the weather.

Halfway up a hill, I hit a puddle and started to hydroplane. First the car twisted clockwise, and I feared hitting the car on my right. Then the car twisted the other way and I started to wish I’d hit that car. I remember the next series of events like I was sitting on my couch (this car was comfy), watching a bad movie from the 70s where the pivotal moment centered around a car accident, filmed from 24 angles and repeated on screen for half an hour.

At this point on Route 2, the median is a grassy area, about 20-feet wide, maybe 4-5 feet deep in the middle. My wheels were pointed forward, but I slid down the median diagonally. I remember bouncing a bit at the bottom, and then heading up the other side. I hit the pavement and continued to sail across 4 lanes of very confused and freaked out oncoming traffic. SHOOM-SHOOM-SHOOM-SHOOM I barely missed 4 oncoming cars.

The car had slowed considerably by that point, so hitting the guard rail wasn’t too much of a jolt. I remember the impact, the crunch, and the stereo blaring Underworld.

I was fine. The car sustained $2500 worth of damage and made a full recovery. Anybody else who witnessed it had a little scare, but that was it.

As I waited on the side of the road for a cop and a tow, a man, whose last name I can only remember as ‘Dalmus’, let me borrow his umbrella. A huge, red golf umbrella, almost as big as The Travelers one in the commercials. I mean to say, this thing was big. He told me I could return it to him when I had a chance, gave me his card and went on his way.

I lost the card (twice) and never got his umbrella back to him. But I remember his face and I remember his gesture. And I still have the umbrella and use it to this day.

I don’t think I’ll ever find this guy, so I’ve held onto his umbrella until I can find someone else who needs it and then pass it on. I probably won’t pass on the story, but maybe this person will have their own.

This is why I like Julie’s project so much. Every time I use my ridiculously huge red umbrella to get to work, walk my tiny dog, or get my kid to the car, I think of the kindness of this one stranger who will probably never find out how much I appreciated him stopping to check on me after I almost killed him. (If I do talk to him again, I’ll probably leave that last part out.)

If this one act can make me smile on every rainy day since my accident in 1996, isn’t it worth it to throw a few bucks into the pot to fund a project that will attempt the same thing 1000 times? In fact, I think it’d make a great holiday gift—give to the project in someone else’s name and click the option to have a Thank You card or some official project stickers sent their way.

A little goes a long way, people. This is one of those things that’ll make you feel good. You shouldn’t miss being a part of that.