It’s been nearly five months since we initially moved here. Not a large amount of time, but I would have expected to feel much less like a tourist by now.
I have started a new job downtown that forces me to be around a very different sort of individual. Aside from the typical tourists, whom I feel more of a connection with, I deal with native San Franciscans, or at least people who have large sums of money that allow them to navigate the city with great ease. These people are the type who don’t bat an eye at dropping a thousand dollars on a pair of prescription glasses. Some of these people even carry this amount of money in CASH on their persons regularly.
Utterly bizarre. They come from a world I will likely never know. It’s a bit depressing.
But eh, let’s return to my tourist talk.
Although it was only my second day of work, I am already fairly certain I have a new routine.
Each shift ends at 5:30 p.m., a time in the afternoon when downtown is always buzzing. When I walk the two blocks to the BART station, my eyes constantly dart in an attempt to memorize everything. I want to learn how to recognize the tourists from the people who call San Francisco home. My store is right next to Union Square, where there is almost always live music playing. I stare at the giant advertisements; I wonder how often those will change in such a dynamic city.
I feel very comfortable darting through the traffic now. I have developed a taste for walking briskly through the throngs of people crowding the sidewalks.
However, I think I still have this awestruck look in my eyes that belies the confidence with which I stroll.
When I look around I am still amazed by the city. It possesses an ambience, a closeness, that LA will never achieve. San Francisco attracts the type of people I rarely crossed paths with back home.
I think I like it. I think I fit.