When I was in first grade, I lived in Foster City, California for a year. I don't even remember what we were doing here, but I'm sure it had something to do with some work my dad was doing. I remember a park down the road. I remember a front yard made of decorative stones in the shape of a star. I remember a late night at Candlestick Park watching Vida Blue pitch, coming home really late with an airplane the flew around a stick. I remember my school being nearby and once playing at the playground when there was a guy there playing guitar (back when we didn't worry about single guys playing guitar on a playground). I remember walking across a bridge to a store that had those little sticks of wax with sugar-water inside. And I remember falling in love for the first time.
Her name was Heather, and I hid around a corner and jumped out to kiss her one rainy day when she and another first-grade friend walked by under an umbrella. I remember sitting in my room on a bedspread speckled with little Russian soldiers dancing that Russian soldier dance, counting my money because I wanted to just give it to her. My mom convinced me to buy her something nice, instead, so I bought her a plastic ring from a machine. It was purple.
So maybe I had some sort of adolescent fascination and unrealistic expectations for this town, but frankly, I'm disappointed to see what it's become. Yeah, sure, you can never go home again, but come on. You can't make eye contact? You can't return a smile? You can't acknowledge a "hello" or "good morning?" After nearly two weeks of nothing but friendliness amongst the southbound cruisers and the hometown Eurekans (with the exception of a few fishermen), I'm just not used to people who have no class. Today on the dock I saw a man wearing a goofy commodore's hat (ala Thurston Howell III) without even a hint of irony. He was walking towards his big but shitty motoryacht, and he scowled when I smiled at him. I have a new theory about this town: it's so proud of its "differences," its ability to look past all the little eccentricities that make all its individuals individuals, that it's decided to just look past everyone. It's almost clique-ish. It's as if it's gone and separated itself into these distinct groups that all say: "You do what you like in your own bedroom, pal. But I'm going to be over here with my people, and I don't feel obligated to associate with you or whatever you may be." And to be completely honest, I've fallen into the trap, too. There were more people I could have smiled at, been approachable to while walking down the road, but come on... it's San Francisco! What would that dude think if I smiled?I'm leaving this place on Monday. It's not warm or clean or beautiful enough to be this pretentious. It's just not a nice city. Sorry for all the people who are nice, but so far, from what I've seen, your city is filled with a bunch of dicks. And you're making me feel like a dick.TT
