What would you do for 40 cents?
I learned just what 40 cents could mean to someone this past weekend when I discovered my car window shattered, glass shards littering the entire back seat.
The thief took 40 cents in change from the little dish where I keep parking meter money. He or she also took my backup pair of prescription glasses presumably to fetch a buck or two on the street (the main pair was among a bevy of personal stuff stolen from me in Estonia).
Though I don’t really believe in Fate or God or anything like that, I can’t help but ponder that someone or something is trying to suggest that maybe San Francisco isn’t the right place for me.
I never did quite feel at home in this big city, despite its highly publicized allure. Sure, you can find a zillion awesome restaurants here, the weather — excepting frequent fog — isn’t too bad, and the amount of “intellectual capital” is rather exciting and impressive.
But jobs are scarce, parking sucks, rents are insanely high, public transportation is mediocre at best (compared to Boston, Chicago, and almost any major city in Europe), and so on.
In my few years here, I’ve had my suitcase stolen from the sidewalk in front of my apartment while I was moving in, I’ve gotten hundreds of dollars in parking tickets, I’ve been physically assaulted, and now I’ve had my car broken into.
This does not make for a peaceful, comfortable life.
Even though I understandably hated my suburban existence growing up (booooring!), now I have an increased appreciation for unlimited free parking, few one-way streets, and most importantly, the ability to walk to my car at night without worrying about me OR my auto.
And with the money I’d save by moving to, say, a suburb of Chicago or Minneapolis, I could sure afford some nice winter coats and a lot of plane tickets to visit warmer climes. Hmm.