Rainy Season – The Harvard Lampoon

Seasons of Life #

| Issue Editor: DRM '18 | Art Editor: JTB '18

Rainy Season

  LGF '21

When the rain started last spring, it never stopped again. Things were fine at first: the crops began to grow for the first time in years, water levels were stable, fish had plenty to breathe, and everyone’s car got, like, super clean. But things started to get bad when the recession started in May. That had nothing to do with the rain, to be fair, but it sure put folks in a bad mood.

A state of weather emergency was declared in mid-June. By then, people everywhere were losing hope; and other people, specifically meteorologists, were losing their jobs. No one knew exactly what was going on with the storms and the flooding—but people did know enough to shoot the messengers. Weatherman everywhere were murdered in grotesque but largely unnoticed ways: by beheading, for example—but also by, like, kicking and stuff. You know it when you see it.

Reactions to the rain varied. The most common reaction was “wet,” which was a weird coincidence. The second-biggest was “irritable,” and the third-biggest was “kind of damp.” On the one hand, it was nice to have something in common with your neighbors; but on the other hand, it sucked that what we all had in common was a single emergency shelter.

By the end of June, the government had claimed every cup and bucket and trough in the country, filled them up with water, and had them dumped into the Mississippi River. But the Mississippi River was already pretty full of rain; the banks were overflowing into Nevada on the left and into France on the right, and Canada had long-since floated off into the Gulf of Mexico. Property values in Toronto shot up when it reached the Equator—but the housing bubble popped again somewhere along the coast of Argentina. In stark contrast, the massive suds bubbles floating out of that flooded soap factory in Tennessee never popped, and Nashville remains the cleanest city in the contiguous U.S.

Of course, things had mostly quieted down by July. And things stayed quiet—at least until the next annual rainy season, ten months later. Kind of crazy how it always takes us by surprise.