Failure builds character. I believe that making a fool of oneself at least once a week is part of growing as a human being. San Francisco echoes with my past mistakes. Here are a few that I’m not too ashamed to share:
Ike’s Place — Castro District
I’d spent a month chasing an emotionally unavailable guy through text messages. I’d never been to Ike’s Place, but I had read about the famous Dutch crunch bread there. The line went out the door and down the block. My date didn’t talk to me during the wait. He was glued to his phone and provided only a handful of affirmative grunts to my monologues.
It was Ike himself who greeted us at the counter. He talked to me while he made my sandwich. A handsome, funny, goal-oriented guy made me the best sandwich I’d ever eaten. I had stars in my eyes that afternoon. My date noticed and commented on my behavior. I ignored him and ate my sandwich. It didn’t work out between us, but when I get asked if I want to grab a sandwich from Ike’s Place, my reply is always, “Of course. I love their sandwiches. You know, I went on a date with Ike once.”
Opera House
My friend Stacey and I went to the opening night of Lucrezia Borgia at the Opera House. I was motivated more by an obsession with Showtime’s Borgia series than actual knowledge of opera. We also found out that the Opera House had a buffet before the show and decided we had to check it out. It was the most welcoming party I’d ever attended. There were free drinks and appetizers. Twenty minutes later, an usher approached us and asked if we were box-seat holders. We weren’t. We were kindly told that the lobby we were hanging out in was for a private engagement. He escorted us to our seats so we didn’t get lost. The walk to the balcony was long. I’m pretty sure it was colder in the balcony as well. I blamed my friend for not being more successful.
Castro Theatre
I was invited to see Latrice Royale (of RuPaul’s Drag Race) live onstage at the Castro. I wanted to look regal, and I wondered what royalty would wear to a drag show. I went with my mother’s vintage 1970s pink-and-gold dress. It looked like someone had shot up a knock-off Marie Antoinette couch so that I could have material for my outfit. I arrived at the Castro Theatre and was immediately drowned in a sea of black. The show was “Sister Act,” and if audience members weren’t dressed as nuns, they were in jeans (I have to admit, I skim through my text messages, so I didn’t get the memo). I thought about running to my car and rummaging through my trunk to find something else to put on, but there was no time. There was no missing me in the crowd; people took photos and asked me whom I was dressed as. I spent a Saturday night standing out as a sore thumb in the Castro — and it was fabulous.
Borderlands Café
I procrastinate on everything. I signed up for a screenwriting group, and it took me months to make it to a meeting. I met the nicest group of writers that night at Borderlands. They were kind, funny and embracing. I shook hands and made eye contact with all of them at the end of the meeting as if we were lifelong friends, and I told them I would see them the following week. I never showed up. Every Wednesday I think about it, and then something will come up, and my plans will fall through. I hear they’ve moved the meeting to Novela Bar, and I still haven’t had a chance to check it out. That fact doesn’t stop me from referring to them as my close, personal friends whom I just haven’t had a chance to catch up with in a while.
Cowgirl Creamery Cheese Shop — Ferry Building
I had a midlife crisis in my late 20s. I hadn’t found my niche. Surfing the net, I read about an opening for a cheese presenter at Cowgirl Creamery. I always have fun at the Ferry Building farmers’ market, and I’m continually inspired when I walk through the shops. I decided I would be the best cheese presenter on planet Earth. So I wrote a two-page cover letter and sent it in with my CV.
They never called me back. The last few times I visited Cowgirl Creamery, I found myself mimicking the workers and wondering just what it was about me that prevented me from making the cut. I can hold a block of Gouda like no one else. I always buy a block a cheese before I leave and hope they don’t see the rejection in my eyes.
Wayfare Tavern
I witnessed a mugging while crossing the street to Wayfare Tavern. A young man grabbed a woman’s purse and ran … in my direction. We noticed each other at the same time. He was much smaller than me and looked like a teenager. I could have clotheslined him. I could have yelled at him to stop. What I did was clutch my purse, scream “eww” and hop through the entrance of Wayfare while staring at the scene outside. He didn’t immediately move either. Even the thief was embarrassed by my behavior, assuming I would have done the right thing. My friend and I immediately ordered drinks. We were survivors and needed something to calm our nerves. Twenty minutes later the woman and her purse walked into the restaurant. She talked animatedly about her ordeal and how no one did anything to help her aside from the police officer the boy ran into a block down the street. I had the burger at Wayfare, and it was delicious, but it was hard to chew and turn my head around nonchalantly to see if I was being judged.
Ocean Beach
I always knew Bay to Breakers existed, but in 2011 what caught my attention was the medal racers would receive after crossing the finish line to commemorate the 100th anniversary. I immediately signed up. I didn’t train, and I didn’t walk one mile in preparation. I showed up to the race wearing a pair of sandals and butterfly wings. Hayes Street nearly killed me, and when I arrived at Golden Gate Park, I took a zillion photos. I asked around for where I could collect my medal. I was informed that medals were available at the finish line. I still had a mile to go. It was the longest mile I ever had to walk. I cried passing the finish line. My accomplishment? Finishing the 12k in close to four hours. The tears really fell when I realized I would have to walk back into Golden Gate Park to catch my bus. I had blisters on my feet, but it was worth it. I wore that medal to work the next day, and it now hangs in a glass case in my office along with my bib and a photo of me crossing the finish line — you know, just like all the other athletes have in their homes.
Huahine Tattoo
Huahine Tattoo works out of Castro Tattoo, and I went there last September for my first and last tattoo. It was one of those impulsive moments when you’ve been thinking about something for a while and just decide to do it. I took my cousin with me, and we sat in the lobby and argued about what our mothers would say. The teenager working behind the counter stared at us like we were from an alternate universe. He understood regret and the fear of parents’ disapproval; he’d just never witnessed it happening with a couple of 30-year-olds.
Bernie’s — Noe Valley
I was accepted into the creative-writing masters program at SF State. I lasted a semester. I loved the students and the courses, but I hated paying for daily parking. My favorite part of the program was grabbing coffee with my academic advisor, professor Robert Glück. There is nothing I love more than having coffee with someone interesting. Sitting across from Professor Glück at Bernie’s makes my list of my most interesting coffee dates. He advised me to become a teacher. I hadn’t turned 30. I didn’t know what I wanted. Now I see his point. The 2000s would have played out differently for me if I had listened to him. That day I asked him to sign my copy of his novel, Elements of a Coffee Service. It’s been close to a decade since that coffee date, but I can still remember being inspired.
101 Montgomery
I love the beautiful buildings in the city. I landed an interview with an editorial company located at 101 Montgomery. After weeks of getting parking tickets, I was excited about a work location that had private parking. I started nesting by the time I got out of the elevator. The receptionist had fresh baked cupcakes at the front desk, and I envisioned years of recipe swaps with her. I was so absorbed with the view of the city and the compliments I received on my cover letter that I was only half-listening to the interviewer. The conversation turned to San Francisco–based companies and growth. The only word I heard was “Levi’s,” and I absently asked, “Levi’s? They’re from San Francisco?” The minute I uttered that question, I knew I had blown it. I didn’t get the gig, but they validated my parking. Moral of the story: pay more attention to the boss until you’re hired, and then start mentally picking out small potted plants for your window desk.
