The Expectations Game

The Expectations Game

“You can have a hot lover, a hot job, and a hot apartment, but you can’t have all three at the same time.”

—	Mona’s law, from Armistead Maupin’s “More Tales of the City” ---------

San Francisco is not for everybody. Especially the following:

·          

•      People who like the seasons

• ·         People who hate the wind

• ·         Introverts

• ·         Those who value peace and quiet

• ·         Those who hate hipsters

• ·         Homophobes

So many of my observations of this city is colored by my own experience and recent history. Take the working life for example. Customer service here is stellar. The only notable exceptions are every single Walgreens and the Safeway on Market and Church. And this is because the aforementioned are completely understaffed. Very seldom will you get a surly clerk who will not help you out. There are a slew of independent shops and restaurants everywhere so there is more incentive for everyone to really pull their weight out of A.) capitalistic survival, B.) loyalty to the boss and C.) people are just generally kind and helpful here. I had thought I would be immigrating to the western capital of communism but if anything my experience in San Francisco is teaching me the value and nooks-and-crannies of running a business. Morale is skyhigh at my place of work and it’s so nice to be able to exhibit a little initiative and not be seen as a threat. Both my boss and I are big proponents of a ‘win-win’ situation and I couldn’t be happier. She is even encouraging me to pen a blog for our optometry practice.

Expectations are a funny thing. They’re like private, unwritten laws that bend and warp the mind. I actually thought there would be more hippies in Fog City or people who would look carelessly unkempt. If anything, an average, working San Franciscan pays close attention to appearance so as not to be confused with the unwashed masses of homeless people. And there are a ton of homeless people as I’ve mused several times before. I feel I’ve become a little immune to them. It’s hard to tell which ones are crazy, which ones are drugged out, which ones are malicious and which ones are fair-weather punk rockers with something to prove so you just end up avoiding all of them. The economic stratification here is astounding but there doesn’t seem like a lot of open hostility to those who are unemployed.

There was supposed to be more mist and less wind. 75% of the neighborhoods were to emulate the curvature and charm of Russian Hill, Nob Hill and Telegraph Hill. I expected everyone here to be super PC but if anything there’s a lot of levity and ethnic joking (more so than any other place I’ve lived). There are more carnivores than I ever dreamed (although I have made three friends that cannot ingest sugar even in fruit form). I expected SF to be friendly to Fido but the reality is on par with Paris as people regularly sit their best friends at café and restaurant tables. There is less street trash than I envisioned but of course more homeless people. People actually smoke here and emote frequently in public. More people are on more drugs than I imagined but it has surprisingly little effect on my center of gravity and mood.

Walgreens has a sinister monopoly on the peninsula. While they are the po-dunk, harmless alternative back home; here they are the only price-gouging game in town. And the deals are pitiful. I expected to maintain an East Coast attitude but people roll their eyes at neurotic behavior a la Seinfeld. In fact, the television is de-emphasized here. People are warmer and colder than I ever imagined and I’ve been pulled to emotional extreme temperatures. I’m worried at how much I enjoy a superficial existence (there really is not a lot of depth here) but I’ve never been happier. I feel that in San Francisco I have bravely faced the possibility of having no core convictions just an onslaught of observations.

One expectation that has rung true is that I really am having the time of my life. And I’m forever grateful for this.

On a synchronicity side note, I found a $3 copy of The Joy Luck Club at the city’s Easternmost book store, the Ferry Building’s “Book Passage”. It’s a riveting read that deals so closely with narrative and memory and animism and expectations. Also, a few weeks ago, I forgot to mention that when I moved into my brand new room there were two gold-framed identical watercolor drawings by William Thomas Cooper hanging in my room. What did they depict? Parrots, of course. Isn’t that the height of synchronicity? It’s almost like they were waiting for me, preening on birch branches. Thus the time has come to resurrect the early 90’s adjective fly. But how would I manage to use a fly word like that sparingly?