Louis Vuitton does NOT sell umbrellas.

Chicago, Illinois. Monday 9:45 a.m. Michigan Ave.

The weather had been slightly cloudy when I left to catch the train early that morning. But, that's how many mornings are in Chicago. I knew that within minutes the sun would be out and I would wishing for a cloud or two for shade.

I was on a bus. My hair curled to perfection. My nice, gray light-wool suit freshly pressed. My black leather pumps shiny and sparkling. I was minutes from the John Hancock about to find myself interviewing at 10 a.m. in one of the world's most prestigious PR firms. I was nervous and excited. I had been waiting for this opportunity for quite a while.

And then...it began to rain. And then pour. And not just pour, dump buckets. The bus stopped half a block from my necessary destination. I thought to myself, "If I attempt to run in this I'll be drenched. There'll be no point for me to even step into that firm." But, I was in luck there was a store right in front of me as I exited the bus. "I'll just purchase an umbrella. No problem." I dashed into it.

I checked out my suit as I entered the store, only my skirt had gotten slightly damp. As I looked up from my skirt, I realized this was no po-dunk store that carried $5 umbrellas." I was in Louis Vuitton. Home of $5000 purses.

"Huh," was all I could think. Maybe I could borrow? Maybe put the umbrella on my credit card and then return it? And then I saw a male. Surprisingly he looked straight. Could this possibly be my knight in shining armor? I decided now was a good time to play the damsel in distress card.

"Hi," I said, as charming as could make my voice sound. Then came the damsel, Snow White would have been proud, "I have an interview in the Hancock building and unfortunately I don't have an umbrella." He looked at me blankly. For about 10 seconds. I tried again. "You don't happen to sell umbrellas do you?"

"No we don't," he said grinning. At least he found me amusing. It was a start. "Oh, okay," sounding devastated, because I was. He just stared at me, like I was absolutely ridiculous for about another 10 seconds. And then I began to feel really, really stupid. I decided now might be a good time to turn around and walk out into the storm. "Well thanks anyway," I said.

"I can give you some plastic and you can put it over your head." Not exactly my idea of a perfect rescue, but it could work. "Yeah, definitely. Thank you." He pulled out two Louis Vuitton dress bags and handed them to me.

I had 10 minutes by this point. I thanked my knight. No shining armor, but still a great guy. I ran into the rain, bags held high above my head, only to have it coming at me horizontally. "Blast!" if I was a cussing woman, I might have used some harsher language.

In two minutes I was in the Hancock soaked from head to toe. My hair curled perfectly no longer. My pressed suit drenched. And my shiny pumps squishing with water. I had eight minutes to be on the 33rd floor.

I flew to the nearest restroom. Retrieved some bobby pins from my purse, turned on the air drier for my shoes. My suit was hopeless. With four minutes left, I ran to the elevator. The elevator man was chuckling at me as I got in. Surprisingly it made me laugh. What were the chances of rain on one of the most important days of my life? Even a wedding would have been nicer! At least no was judging you in 10 seconds, making conclusions of who you are and what you're made of. I laughed all the way to the 33rd floor.

The interview went great. Luckily everyone was so nice and understanding and just laughed when they saw me and told me stories of themselves getting stuck in the rain. I was also grateful that I was put into a large room with a large table where there was a large amount of space from me and the interviewer as my gray, light-wool suit dried, smelling a bit like wet dog. At least I was the only one repulsed, hopefully.

The lesson I learned from this is of course, the obvious, "Always carry an umbrella with you to an important interview with a prestigious PR firm when it looks like rain." But, I think there will also be another one that I will keep tucked away in the back of my mind for whenever I need a good laugh, Louis Vuitton does not carry umbrellas. So, don't waste your time.