Tuesday is learning day.
Lesson 1. Parking in San Francisco.
I always considered myself a savvy SF tourist. Nothing ruffles my calm, even when driving. I know where to park, in just about any neighborhood. I know when to dive into the parking garage when it gets tough. I can sail through the scary intersections, I know where you can turn left on Market or Park Presidio. I know which alleys will never have any parking. After ten years without mishap (which is more than I can say about either Redding or Capitola), I was confident in my ability to navigate the perilous waters of SF.
Imagine my surprise when I saw the Silver Bullet this morning. I left it on 24th St about 11:00 PM last night. I carefully read all the fine print on the parking meter, I scrutinized the color of the curb, and I thought it was safe. Was I ever wrong. Apparently, the city fathers don't have anything legislating where the pidgeons do there business. I think every SOMA/ Mission St pidgeon left a green and gooey calling card on my car. The entire driver's side was a big, swampy mess. And that wasn't all. Tucked under my windshield was a parking ticket. It was issued at 6:15 AM (the parking meter said 9!). And then we looked up, and there, as large as life, was the sign announcing the street cleaning hours. DOH! The one thing we didn't check. The moral is, if you find a spot, the wise locals prolly left it open for a reason, and you should just hie your suburban ass back to the suburbs.
I was in the middle of a l-----, and the t------ pulled me aside and told me the what I was doing was really babysitting. The s-------- were socializing. They weren't doing art. To further illustrate her point, she called on one and asked him what he was doing. He answered with a blank stare. As if that wasn't enough, she called on the whole class. Their answers were scattered and barely coherent. I actually had to think a bit to come up with the right answer. I had failed in laying down a clear raison d'etre. MEA CULPA! I was having an acute philosophical crisis, right there in the c----. She wasn't terribly nice, and all I could do at the moment was nod-and-smile. What is the correct response when someone shows you what an ass you are? So now I am a-thinking. I need to correct this for the next lesson (but I don't feel like it-- its work! I don't get paid enough). I need a paradigm shift, or something. I feel like a retarded salesman whose tried-and-true techniques aren't working and everyone is laughing.
But am I blue? Am I downtrodden? NO! Like the village idiot of yore, I will continue FROWARD!