Fake Tales of San Francisco: Day One

"I've been terribly alone and forgotten in Manhattan. I'm going home to my city by the Bay." -- Tony Bennett

03.04.2010

I drain half of my iced coffee in one gulp. Part of me feels like I should lay off the caffeine if I want to stand any chance of sleeping on the airplane, but the rest of me fears being trapped on an airplane with a caffeine withdrawal headache. And besides, I drink coffee before bed at night. It won't keep me awake!

Two men stand behind me as I wait to board the plane. They talk about whether they'll be able to sleep through the flight, whether they'll get any work done, the general precariousness of the gangway underfoot. I glance backwards under the pretense of repositioning my suitcase. They're both hipsters. Attractive, bearded, intellectual-looking.

We all move a few inches closer to the plane. The cuter hipster -- the one who looks like the cute brother of a cute guy I once knew -- says, "You know, I think I'm ready to fall in love." I envy his certainty.

The hipsters are seated in my row. The cute one is across the aisle and his friend is next to me.

I don't sleep a wink in the five and a half hours it takes the damn plane to land.

I burst out laughing in the BART because I realize that San Francisco has no palm trees.

The staff at my hotel has been coached to call all guests "Doctor" for the duration of the weekend. After the third time it happens, I decide to stop correcting people.

Crap, my room is enormous. I could have easily brought two friends with me and we still would have had room to spare.

My hotel is located in the shopping district of San Francisco, so I decide to spend my first few hours visiting every store that I already visit in New York on a bimonthly basis. The styles featured here are drastically different than anything I'm used to purchasing, though. Punchy colors, crazy patterns, and dangerously short skirts are everywhere. Where is my limitless selection of nearly identical black dresses?

I walk into a fitting room to try on a dress. Without being asked for his help, the attendant brings me six other dresses, three belts, and a sweater to try on. He chooses the correct size in everything, too.

At an intersection. The woman standing next to me hails a cab. The driver gets out, walks around to the curbside passenger door, opens it for the woman, closes it behind her, walks back around, gets in, and drives away. The man on my other side says what I'm thinking: "Jesus. In New York, you're lucky if the cabs STOP."

Homeless man quote: "You seem like a woman of fine taste. Wanna buy my album?"

I decide to go to bed at 7:30 PM. My colleague -- my fifty-something year-old colleague -- calls me an old lady for it.