… the ceramics studio under the stairs, and accompanying rat trap. A person could go all metaphorical about the state of the nation, but I will spare you. I’m pleased that the space, the sunken courtyard, is as I remember. That end of the courtyard likely gets next-to-no foot traffic. The main street of Fisherman’s Wharf is down the other end,
and there is another vacant space cater-cornered (this is the version of the word the New York Times Style Manual says I should use). But down the other end, all is as it should be.
I got a real kick out of the Ferris wheel further down the Wharf. I did have the idea that the Wharf was having the longest, slowest decline in real estate history … but not so.
There is a hotel on the site of The Former Popcorn Wagon, and many others all around that did not used to be there. And then there is this ! I have an idea that back in the 30’s, when it was built, actual fish were freighted out of that building … a la “On the Waterfront”, and I am pleased to see it still standing.
The bubble gum balls were fresh! I had forgotten it: the stupendous sugar rush you get off fresh bubble gum balls. Made myself slightly ill munching them on the drive home. And I may go back for more. Because the trip into town was not as traumatic as I thought it would be.
The original plan was to do a combination of public transit and Lifts, but my timeline for the event got shortened, and so I took the car. And that was a scary prospect. Aggravating minutiae of urban life presented themselves right off. On the drive out The Embarcadero I saw a nearly naked, very tanned and toned runner, sitting atop a very tall wall, quite diligently picking his toes. Does he know what a picture he makes? … think I. And then I commence to muse upon all the reasons I quit taking assignments in The City. So many, varied, and incessant are the vulgarities that afflict a sensitive soul like myself, while afoot in The City.
Pull yourself together girl, positive thoughts. It was so early I found street parking! And the maximum meter time was four hours, even better! But then I had to figure out how to work the electronic and wi-fi’d parking meter. Four tries at two meters later, it dawned on me that the apparatus simply was not going to accept my debit card. It wanted a credit card, and I don’t have one of those. Just as well. Does a person really want to give an electronic parking meter access to their bank account? And so I had to find another place to park.
Which I did. And then I spent some four hours wandering all around and looking at this and that. It was very productive. Back at the parking lot, I pay: $30, which is a lot, but no more than I expected. I get in the car and drive to the gate, scan my ticket, and the machine tells me it wants another $5.00. My ass it does. So I have to go find the fellow on duty; thank goodness there was one. “It shouldn’t do that,” he says. No, it shouldn’t, say I. I wonder how many people just shell out the $5.00, rather than make a fuss … but I didn’t say that to the wage earner.
And so the Goddess rewarded me with an uneventful drive back to the bridge. I may make another expedition, maybe. But it was a day of excessive stimulation. That the citizens should act out as often as they do is not to be wondered at.
An Old Knitty Lady 
One response to “And There It Is …”
Fisherman’s Wharf sounds fun, but the driving and parking sounds more like every time I’ve been to the city for work. I don’t know how people do it every day.
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