The Morning Commute

I hate commuting to work. I hate commuting so much that the last time I lived in California I chose to live in the dead center of the suburbs — killing any faint glimmer of a social life — because it meant I could rollerblade, bike or walk to work. And it was worth it. I hate commuting.

Fortunately my second tour of California includes a job in downtown San Francisco, meaning I can live close to work and be in the city. In fact (checking the distance now...), my apartment is just 1.3 miles from work. Google maps tells me it's an easy, 20 minute walk each way. But I know better. My apartment is on top of Nob hill, which makes the walk home more heart pounding than relaxing. I'm all for a little extra exercise, but getting home every day sweating and out of breath gets old after about one week. I should know, I did it my first week here.

Enter one of San Francisco's most memorable (and touristy) landmarks: the cable car.





Off to work...


One of city's three cable car lines stops directly in front of my apartment, runs down Nob hill, and drops me off 4 blocks from my office. It's perfect. The cable cars are almost exclusively used by tourists, as the $5 fare (each way, no transfers) doesn't seem to entice the locals. Fortunately for me, the cable cars are operated by San Francisco's bus department, meaning that a monthly bus pass works on the cable cars as well! Alright, alright, enough technical details. The bottom line is that I can hop on or off whenever I want to!

And I take full advantage of that opportunity. There is something unnaturally satisfying about smoothly coasting up and down the steep streets of San Francisco at a steady 9 miles per hour. And I haven't found anything more San Franciscan than running out my apartment, sprinting to the corner and leaping on to cable car as it pulls away. (Note: Although I have discovered that the cable car operators are noticeably less enthusiastic this. I haven't been kicked off any cars yet, but I've been on the receiving end of a couple of stern gazes and scolded once.)

I figured that I would eventually grow weary of the novelty and start to hate the slow moving, screechingly loud cars, but it hasn't happened yet. I take every chance I can to ride the cable car. For example, my nearest grocery store is just 1.5 blocks from my apartment. But tonight I walked half a block in the opposite direction so I could catch the cable car, ride it two blocks, then get off at the store. I did the same thing on the way back.

That isn't to say the cable cars are without fault. Where to start with that list? For starters, the cars run in a constant loop, so a logical person might come to the (seemingly reasonable) assumption that every time a cable car passes you in one direction, there should be a matching car coming soon from the other direction. Sadly, that is not the case. There have been times when, while waiting for a ride at the end of a long day I've seen three or even four cable cars go the other direction! How does this happen? Where are they all going? They have to come back at some point, you'd think. But they don't. It doesn't add up.

My biggest complaint, however, is standing along the outside of the cable car (you can kind of make out the running boards at the bottom of this car. Standing out there on a warm, sunny day is a fantastic. The wind is blowing in your hair and you're hanging off the side of a moving vehicle in downtown San Francisco. It's hard not to feel like a super hero, all that's missing is a cape.

Until you look back at the cable car and realize that some old, overweight tourist is sitting literally a foot from you. And he's sitting up higher than you're standing, which means his knees are jammed into your ribs and ... well his man section is uncomfortably close to your chest. Allow me to repeat that. An older gentlemen is sitting immediately in front of you, taking in the sights of the cable car. He's talking to the conductor, watching other cars pass, and looking at his map of the city. But what he's not doing is paying attention to the fact that his legs are spread and his man bits are sliding dangerously close to your chest. You try to lean as far away possible but the conductor quickly gives you the evil eye and tells you pull yourself back in. You sigh, inch back towards the danger zone and take your imaginary super cape off. A true super hero wouldn't stand for this sort of injustice.