Chapter 11: San Francisco
And while Ben and I had begun making lists and purchasing plane tickets and collecting large piles of Sharkies slowly and with much concerted effort during the spring, we found ourselves making our plans for the remaining days of trip hastily, with the wide-eyed realization that our denouement was drawing ineluctably nearer. The end was upon us.
As luck (or what I like to: Cosmic Karma Owed to Me by the Benevolent Master of the Universe Due to my Multiple Lifetimes of Service and Renunciation in the Caves of Tibet) my aunt on my mother’s side was away from San Francisco visiting my family on the East Coast. While I was sad to have missed her in her natural habitat, she had offered her apartment for both Ben and my use during our stay in the Bay Area. This was, without a question, the penultimate gift that rounded out our three week journey filled with undeserved bounty.
While the prospect of having our own apartment was terrific, I was more excited about the obsequious turn in Ben’s attitude towards me after the details had been finalized. Free lodging was something we tried to pawn off of anyone who had ever vaguely known us wherever we travel. But to be granted a place all to ourselves; to be able to come and go as we please; to be given, simply put, a free hotel room with a kitchen in the middle Japantown in San Francisco — well, this earned me some points that would have to be included in our grand reckoning and, as such, I never passed an opportunity to remind Benjamin of his debt to me.
That evening in Gualala, after a day on the beach in the sun and sand, I announced:
“I am now going to the pay phone to place a phone call to ensure the retrieval of the key that will guarantee our free lodging during our time in San Francisco that I, personally, am responsible for. To thank me, when I return, I expect the following: one, that the dishes be washed; two, that an undisturbed container of soy ice cream be placed upon the spot that I am now sitting with a clean spoon resting atop it; and three, that you will allow us to consume eggs again upon arrival in the Bay Area.”
Of course: all the requests were met. I called my aunt’s friend who held the key to our bachelor pad. She was from Ireland and so was her husband, who answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Damon, did my aunt–”
“Ah Damon hello yea, sorry, but Christine isn’t here, she’ll be back at ate ‘tirty.”
“Um, hi. Um, okay, oh, when did you say — ?”
“Ate ‘tirty, call back then, she’ll be ‘ere lookin’ forwa’d to see’n ya.”
“Um, okay. Sure.”
“Great to hear from ya, ya do yer aunt proud, she speaks highly of you all, I see you soon. Ate ‘tirty, call back then, bye bye.”
I had no idea what he had said; I called back later, mostly so I could make new demands from Ben, and happened to get Christine and then I fell immediately in love as a kindergarten student after his first day of school. I would have sat on the phone all night and let her go on and on in that lovely Irish brogue. San Francisco would be just fine indeed.
After we hung up I felt slightly disgusted with myself and I tried to call #6 but she wasn’t in. She was never in when I called. But it didn’t matter. She would be there for me at my journey’s end. She was going to Hawaii, at the end of the week, and then she was coming back and when she came back I would already be at the airport in SeaTac, Washington waiting for her.
Waiting for #6.
DAMON: July 14th, Armstrong still in front — Ben and I are still in front. We saw a touring couple who brought their cat with them.
BEN: Awesome.
DAMON: From Japan. Unbelieveable. That’s just awesome. That’s excellent. I don’t even know what else to say. That’s it.
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