When I am turned loose in the zoo that is his adopted city, my son thinks that I am the one who needs a keeper. Possibly he is right. I adore San Francisco. I can’t get enough of it, but my “country” ways don’t necessarily fit with life in The City. My learning curve, when it comes to San Francisco, is something of an arc — a rainbow, which seems somewhat fitting in that particular metropolis. Each time I visit, I have to re-learn the rules of city life.
The first words out of my mouth when I was a tiny baby were probably, “Howdy! How y’all are?” I grew up in a rural area where you never meet a “stranger” on the street … at least no one unknown to you remains a stranger for long. It’s not the least bit unusual to address people you don’t know. “Stranger danger” is a foreign concept to me. I’m so happy to be walking the streets of San Francisco, that I talk to everybody.
This mortifies my son. When I visit him in San Francisco, he constantly hisses at me. “Mom! Don’t make eye contact … don’t make eye contact … don’t make … awww, Mommmmm!” You see, as soon as he tells me not to make eye contact, I can’t help it. Of course, every doggone time I do make eye contact, the person with whom I exchange glances puts out a hand and asks for money.
Then I hear my son’s stage whisper, “Mom! Don’t give them money … don’t give them money … don’t give … aww, Mommmm!”
It isn’t that my son isn’t as soft-hearted as I am, but I think after being exposed to the constant stream of people asking for a handout, he has determined that they are a little bit like the pigeons in the park. As we sat in Union Square, a lovely gray pigeon strutted and cooed at my feet. I reached for a leftover snack to toss to it and my son squealed “NO! Mom! Don’t feed it … the other’s will see and they will swarm and swoop and poop all over you!”
When my son first came to San Francisco, he felt so sorry for the people on the streets that he carried dollar bills in his pocket so that he could hand them out as he walked. That is, until the day he handed a dollar to a decrepit looking old woman on the street corner who asked for spare change. He handed her a dollar and she indignantly shouted at him. It turns out, she wasn’t in bad shape at all. She picked up her voluminous skirts and chased him up the hill screaming, “That’s not enough! That’s not enough!”
He felt as if he had been pooped upon by a pigeon. Since that day, he doesn’t hand out money. If he notices someone approaching him, he looks away and starts shaking his head, “no.” He said he felt bad about that once when it was only a tourist wanting directions, but that’s how he survives in The City. He warns me that I’m going to have to adopt his attitude.
He also told me to watch out for the “cons.” He said, “Mom! If you are walking on Post Street and a guy comes up to you and says, ‘I bet I can tell you where you got your shoes,’ don’t fall for it. He has been working that same game for three years. If you bet with him, his answer is, ‘You got’s them on your feets.’ Just run the other direction, Mom.”
I probably wouldn’t (no “probably” to it, because I can’t run on the hilly streets … heck I can barely walk). I’d bet him a dollar, let him run his con game on me, and hope he won’t chase me screaming “That’s not enough!”
Perhaps the fact that I would allow that man his con game, that I give money to every beggar who approaches, and that I toss money at every street performer is why I can’t get enough of San Francisco. My husband won’t let me stay there long. He is trying to save me from myself! Give me too much time there and I’d be broke and begging on the street! But, I surely love San Francisco. It’s my kind of town.
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{ 6 comments }
Shelly, I love ya! I have the same problem, but I’ve managed a compromise with myself. I save my dollars for the street performers. (Although if I stop by a farmers market I’m prone to buy apples to hand out to the others. I can’t stand the thought of folks going hungry). I’m glad you’re home safe and sound!
I wouldn’t want to carry a bag of apples down the street, darlin’. It’s all I can do to carry my purse! I’m glad to be home, too (even though I love San Francisco)
Small town girl in big city – I love how you tell your experience of how you see it and how your son sees it.
I think in order to survive you’d have to adopt his attitude.
Chasing him – oh my!
I have to say San Francisco is on of the cities I’ve always wanted to visit, but the hills – oh my!
I guess I will have to learn to ignore the beggars. Yep. He said chasing him! Scared him half to death. The hills are tough, TeaMouse, but there is plenty of public transportation. Take a trolley car! I haven’t done that yet.
Never been to San Francisco, but it’s on the bucket list. Thanks for the quick photo tour and the great story. Welcome back.
Tell me before you go, and I’ll share some of my favorite spots. They are odd places, but that might be right up your alley! Then again, not. Maybe by the time you go I will have won the lottery and will live there
Then again, not.
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