I don't really know if other cities function the same as this one. I think, to some degree, there is the invisibility factor, where there is an elevator-like agreement not to look at each other. I remember one Halloween when I, dressed as a Guernsey cow with utter and ears, went shopping in the Haight Street Cala, and all through the store, no one blinked or commented on my attire. That's the norm. Yesterday was a little odd, off the norm for San Francisco, because when I was buying my omega 3 mixture of flax, borage, and primrose oil (that is very SF), the checker at Whole Foods asked if all the nicks and marks on my motorcycle helmet meant that I'd done a lot of falling. We had a nice exchange about that (the marks were from bumping my head on the low overhang behind Adrianne's house in Sacramento, where I used to park the Honda), but the upshot is that that kind of direct comment on something obvious is fairly unusual.So this morning, before heading out for Santa Cruz (I'm waiting for Heather to finish her Rosen session with Steuart...another very SF thing, bodywork before heading to Santa Cruz to see a "post-zen" spiritual teacher), I went down to the corner coffeeshop to do some work on the notes my marketing coach sent to me. I.e., the notes I've been avoiding since I got them.
On a break in attention, I'm staring out the window, and walking across the intersection is a hot dog on legs, a stubby red and yellow foamy costume worn by an apparently short hot dog lover. Upon reaching the corner, he or she walked around two old Chinese guys who were chatting away, and dropped some envelopes in the mailbox. Then, seemingly happy to have mailed his hot dog letters, the stubby hot dog man/woman walked briskly, and with purpose, down the street and out of my sight. A cop car drove down a minute later, and I wondered whether the cop might pull the man/woman over, perhaps ticketing them for...walking a dog without a leash. Ta da, dum!
