It was bucketing down, absolutely pouring. I was on my way to a birthday dinner but got lost in central Sydney’s labyrinth of streets, so I ducked into an internet cafe to look up directions to the restaurant. I then wrote those directions down by hand – such were the times!
As I stepped out of the cafe, I realised just how bad the weather had become and how ill-prepared I was for the rain. As I stood waiting to cross the road, swiftly getting wet, a man waiting for the lights in the opposite direction offered up his big rainbow umbrella to share. I gratefully accepted and, still a little unsure of where I was going, asked if he knew the way to the restaurant.
The man walked out of his way to get me on to the right street, then handed me the umbrella. “Here, you take this,” he said. I protested but he waved me off, saying he didn’t have far to go. Then he walked off in the other direction, through the rain.
There was no exchange of names, no handshake, no small talk and no expectation of anything in return.
I held on to that umbrella for years, until another rainy day when I crossed paths with an elderly woman at a bus stop without a brolly of her own. I passed it on to her, knowing it had found its new owner.
Decades have passed but every time I see a garish rainbow umbrella I think of that man and how unperformative true kindness is. He must have gotten absolutely soaked on his way home.
