When we were living in San Francisco, I woke up bright and early one Sunday morning in May to go to work. Sitting at the bus stop in my scrubs, I saw Elvis. And solid gold dancers. Then Superman walked by. I saw the Michelin man, too. All before I even boarded the bus.
The 22 line was packed that day, unusual for a Sunday, not to mention the fact that it was around 7:00 am. Everyone was in costume. Everyone was in bright colors, texting friends, laughing on the phone about where to meet. For on this particularly Sunday, it was Bay to Breakers. I knew what was going on but had no idea it was going to be anything of this magnitude.
I got off the bus at my usual stop closest to work--Sutter & Larkin. As I was heading up the incline towards Pine street and now passing just huge clusters of costumed revellers all going in the opposite direction, I crossed paths with this tiny, old man walking with a cane. He was stooped but as I got closer he straightened up a bit, sized me up in my plain scrubs, and said sorrowfully,
"Aren't you going?"
It was priceless.
I was officially pitiful.
Hey Mr., wherever you are out there--I'm going this year!
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