Suzy Says

So I stopped at Whole Foods on my home from work today. While searching for an acceptable peach (they were mysteriously red but unyielding), two of the guys who worked there had the following conversation:

Guy One: “Do we all look the same?”

Guy Two: “What do you mean?”

Guy One: “Maybe the aprons make us all look the same. That lady” [pointing] “said I told her these peaches were sweeter than those peaches, but I never saw her before. Did you talk to her?”

Guy One: “I never look at the customers.”

I had to go and giggle behind the salad greens. Even if he didn’t look at me, he could hear me.

I was a bad citizen and went through the express line with 11 items instead of the permitted maximum of 10, but nobody said anything.

Remember the “Dont Be an Asshole” graffiti? It has taken on a life of its own. Under the original exhortation, someone else has written “Don’t be an asshole? Don’t be a HOMO!” Following that is the perfectly reasonable question, “What does being a homo have to do with assholes?” which just led the way to the observation “Being a homo has EVERYTHING to do with assholes.” I can’t wait to see what happens next. They’re going to run ot of space on that bus stop pretty soon, though.

This looks to be the second foggy day in a row. Sometimes you can tell that it will be sunny by noon, but not yesterday and not today. Good thing I like the fog. If you don’t like it, get out of the city.

Foggy nights make me feel like I’m in a Bogart movie or a novel by Hammett or Chandler. The streets are slick from the moisture and the fog swirls around the streetlights like ghosts, making them look mysterious. Very film noir.

The fog seems to muffle all the city noises, even the cars speeding down the hill in front of our place and the birds in the tree outside our window. It makes everything seem like a dream — the pastel buildings on the hills misted over, the bay full of what looks like white clouds just sitting on the water and allowing peeks of the famous orange bridge. And of course, the low, deep sound of the fog horns under it all, the bass line of the song.

The hush is all over my apartment, too, except for me typing and Jack the Siamese kitten. She is explaining to me in loud piercing Siamese that she is either bored or lonely or about to throw up, so I better go and see what’s going on.