Tales of the Partial Froomies Trip to San Francisco, Intersession 2010 PART TWO

Monday, January 25th
Our first stop on day two was the Ferry Building Market, where we purchased the best chocolate donuts ever to roam this fair land before getting drinks and sitting on a bench where we could watch the commuters arrive. Commuting into a city by ferry was quite the foreign concept to both of us, so we tried to guess the socioeconomic makeup of the people getting off the ferry. They were quite different from the BART crowd on the morning we left. I'll let you draw your own conclusions.
After breakfast, I dragged Roommate J to Grace Cathedral, which figured prominently in More Tales of the City (one of the books I wrote my fall junior independent work on). Inside, we walked the labyrinth on the church floor, checked out the paintings depicting the history of Christianity in California (some were disturbing, some were strangely touching, some featured monks with tonsures which prompted Roommate J to ask, "When did they abolish that haircut?"). Outside, we walked around the surrounding blocks, found a film crew filming a movie called The Year After (starring...we have no idea), ACCIDENTALLY stumbled upon the Pacific Union Club where I squealed over it and scared one of the security guards, ACCIDENTALLY found the apartment building from Vertigo, and, on the way back to Market Street, ACCIDENTALLY walked past Wilkes Bashford (site of many of Beauchamp Day's run-up bills in Tales of the City).
All this was very exciting, but we were starting to get hungry. Instead of getting lunch in one of the overpriced but yummy-looking financial district restaurants, we hopped the historic F streetcar to the Castro (home of the figuratively least-straight street in America). After taking covert tourist photos (in the touristy areas we snapped away with abandon, but in neighborhoods we always felt awkward), we decided to finally get lunch. Roommate J saw a sushi restaurant and we walked over but for the prices listed, I protested, we would go elsewhere and get something we would both enjoy. Next door was advertising lamb-burgers and--most importantly--had available seating in the window, so we went inside and commandeered the window seats even though the waiter tried to steer us to the back ("Lots of people say it's too cold by the window." Heh. Sure. If that's what you call cold). I let Roommate J sit facing the street and I sat with my back to the window facing the back of the restaurant. After a little time had passed, I started to look around. We were the only women there, and almost the only people at all. The only other occupied tables belonged to a couple behind Roommate J, a guy sitting by himself in the other window seat, and a group of four men at the back.
One of those guys at the back looked strangely familiar, and I sat there for a while before (AND THIS IS COMPLETELY AND CRAZILY TRUE) I recognized Armistead Maupin, author of the Tales of the City series (aka my entire reason for picking San Francisco, aka the books on which I had just written a monster independent paper), sitting in the back with his husband and two other guys.
After having a mini (and, as ever, very covert) seizure, I told Roommate J what was going on. Despite all her efforts, I chickened out and remained in my seat and ate my lamb-burger like the star struck English major I was. It would have been nice to have said something to him, but I probably would have stood there and babbled or peed or burst into tears, so I don't have any major regrets. Instead I have the memory of an insane coincidence and the perfect wrap-up to my semester.
After paying and walking around a bit more, we hopped on the F car again and rode down to Pier 33. Next on the agenda: a night tour of Alcatraz. This was the first thing we planned when we were in the embryonic stages of planning the trip via e-mails sent between Paris and Bethesda this summer, so actually showing up at the boat, tickets in hand, was a reminder that the trip was not only successful but so far amazing.
It was also raining. Pretty hard, at this point. This was no deterrent however, and we braved the high seas and arrived on the island amidst a swarm of tourists (our people!) to meet our incredibly good looking tour guide, who explained that the bad weather would make our visit even more accurate thematic. He was completely right. What would have been an okay tour by day was a great tour by night with the wind whistling in the prison. A rather long audio tour was followed by a cell door demonstration that left me both excited and apprehensive about the coming summer's decision to volunteer tutor in a men's prison (more on that in a future post).
We learned about Creepy Karpis and Birdman, the Dummy Head ploy, escape via spoon digging, and how to rob a bank. Very productive. The ride back was uneventful, save our determination that Roommate J's memoir will be entitled Holding Things Without Handles: A Smushed Cheese Danish of a Tale.
Back at the hotel we watched Forrest Gump and fell asleep. Lieutenant Dan is still cool, and Tom Hanks is still the most personable actor I've ever seen.