Dumb Luck

I’ve lived in my new apartment for 19 days. Every workday morning, I walk over Nob Hill, through Chinatown, across Union Square, eventually arriving at my office South of Market 35 minutes after I have left my home. It’s a great way to start the day. I pass by the merchants, preparing their sidewalk stands. Ever so carefully setting out oranges, apples, Chinese cabbage, newspapers, flowers. I greet the hotel doorman, the hospital security guards, briefly commenting on the weather, exchanging pleasantries. Going home, however, I usually jump aboard the cable car. It’s dark when I leave work, I’m tired, and it’s all uphill. I walk the 7 long city blocks to the cable car turnaround on Market Street, stand in line, then hop inside when the car is ready to begin its trek back up the hill. I’ve done this at least 8 or 10 times. Tonight, however, was the first night I realized there are two different lines that leave from that particular cable car turnaround. Somehow up until today I’ve always managed to board the line I needed. Tonight, however, I was on the *other* line.

The beginning of the route is the same. Through Union Square. Stops at the Sir Francis Drake. The Fairmont. Chinatown. But then, as we should have been going straight up Jackson Street, the car veered, slowly, then more quickly, barreling down Mason Street. I looked around. I was perplexed. This was not the way I wanted to go. I quickly stood up and approached the fare collector. “Um. Uh, why aren’t we going up Jackson?” “Lady, this is the Powell-Mason line, not the Powell-Hyde line.” Oo. A “lady” comment. I asked for the next stop. I jumped off and began my trek uphill. Up. Up. Up. And up some more. Next time, I’ll be sure to look for the Powell-Hyde sign on the gold and maroon cable car.