Chance Encounters

I love living in San Francisco, one of the more densely populated neighborhoods in one of the more densely populated cities in the country. One of the best things about it is all of the random encounters I have with people. I've lived here a long time, so I have a lot. I thought I'd share the random encounters I've had in the last week or so.

On the 33 Stanyan. I had a cold and was feeling kind of discombobulated, but there was something sort of familiar about the lady sitting a couple rows in front of me, talking to friends and holding some shopping bags. As I was getting off, we made eye contact, and I realized it was Mrs. M, who lives at the housing complex where I used to be a social worker. I told her it was great to see her, and asked about her family. Her answer was very careful: "Your, my family is very good."

A long time ago, I had a crazy coworker at the housing complex who was very threatened by me (and many other people). Mrs. M's son's car was hit by someone in the garage, and my coworker accused me of doing it. She demanded that I back up my car in order to prove I couldn't have hit his car. I refused. For years after that I was mortified to think that the family thought I might hit their car and lie about it. The coworker was eventually fired after she asked another staff member to withhold my paycheck from me.

Downtown. I had just been to the dentist, was incredibly hungry, and was also struggling with the aforementioned cold. While considering which restaurant to go into, I ran into N, who I've known for more than ten years but only run into every three years or so. N was (maybe still is) a friend of an ex-boyfriend, and I attended his wedding, which was held at the Castro Theatre. At that time, the man I would eventually marry was working at the Castro, and helped said ex to hook N up with the wedding venue. I, however, didn't know my now-husband at all. Within a couple of years of his wedding, N got divorced, which saddened and surprised me.

The next night, I went to a party, and N was there. It turned out that he was in the same Burning Man camp as the host. He wrote me an email after that and said that my husband seemed like a "solid bloke."

On the K Line. I saw another resident from my former job in housing. She is a manicurist in a salon next to the Castro Theatre, and I run into her every few months. She is always delighted to see me--once, a few months ago, she said, "I love you, Linda," when we saw each other in the Castro. I jumped up and sat down next to her.

She asked me if I had a baby yet. That told me that she understood our last conversation, in which I told her that my husband and I were adopting. I wasn't totally sure. I told her that we might have a baby soon, maybe in October. I wondered what the other passengers were thinking, and changed the subject to her three kids. She told me that they are all in graduate school now, only she didn't say that, she called it "more school after college." I kind of got a shiver of joy. She and her husband emigrated from Vietnam, worked in very low-paying jobs, had so little in the way of resources, and their three kids are all in graduate school!

On Guerrero Street. I ran into my friend Steven, who was shopping at a garage sale. He said he was out perusing garage sales and getting coffee. I felt like I got a glimpse into his weekend routine. He asked me where I was striding to so purposefully. In fact, I was going to pick up my City CarShare car, to go grocery shopping, and I was running a bit late. He asked where I was going, and I named Costco as one of my stops. He told me that his dentist had advised him to get a certain kind of electric toothbrush, and asked me to see if it was in stock at Costco. I programmed his number into my cell phone, which I had just gotten the day before. Later, I called him from Costco to say they didn't have it.

Thanks to Jamison for the Muni image.

Taking a Ride

Whoah.

So, it turns out that our match isn't off after all.

E went on vacation, was really busy when she came back, started procrastinating, stood us up at the hospital, felt really guilty...

I think you know the rest.

Our counselor called today and said she'd reached her, and that she'd told her that all of us weren't quite sure whether she wanted to go on with her adoption plan. She said that nothing had changed. She'd been to the doctor, who said that all was well, and that if she went into labor anytime now, it would be fine.

Well, at least we've taken a tour of the hospital, so we know what to expect, kind of.

Seriously, I am just happy. Not mad, not even annoyed.

A Major Twist

Well, our adoption journey has taken a turn off the straight and narrow path it was on.

Last week, we were to meet E. to tour the hospital where she will be giving birth. She sent us directions the week before, and we emailed her the day before to tell her how to reach us if anything came up.

We got there, found the faceless classroom in mazelike halls in the basement, seated ourselves among a bunch of pregnant women and their support people, and began listening to a rather listless presentation about giving birth at the hospital. The leftist and the educator in me were both getting quite angry, because the women there seemed to be mostly working class, and the presenter had such very low expectations of them. After 45 minutes went by, I was sure that E, who has never been on time to any of our meetings, was not coming.

We continued the tour, feeling pretty out of place, and went home. (On the way home, my temporary crown, which had been put on the day before, fell out, making me feel even sorrier for myself).

The next day, we told our counselor what happened, and she urged us not to embrace the worst case scenario. After all, E is no model of organization or timeliness. She suggested we call and email E. That's what we did, and that's what our counselor did too. No answer.

A few days have gone by now, and I'm feeling reasonably sure that E has changed her mind, or at the very least that a large drama has erupted causing her to have second thoughts. The wild cards our counselor warned us about involved her 5 year old daughter, who hadn't been told about her pregnancy, and her ex, who wants to get back together (he's not the father of the current baby). But all in all, our counselor felt that this adoption was probably more likely to work out than most, so we were cautiously optimistic. Now we are not optimistic at all, and I for one am just starting to assume that we'll be moving on to a new period of waiting, matching, etc.

I imagine if it really happens, I'll be quite sad, because I really like E, and have felt like it's a good fit. On the other hand, liking E might make it easier in some respects, because I think I would find it hard to be truly mad at her (as things stand now, anyway). Also, I do think telling myself hundreds of times a day that the match could fall through may have been a wise policy after all, because I'm finding myself not all that shocked.

One thing I can say is that my faith that we'll adopt has not been shaken. In fact, it's been kind of strengthened by our experience so far. It's not terribly uncommon to match more than once before adopting, though it's not terribly lucky, either.

However, if we really do unmatch, I would not mind distracting amusements or extra-kind treatment at all. I may need some help getting back on the path.

Photo by Jenya, courtesy of Flickr creative commons.

Labor

I have certainly felt like a laborer lately. It feels like my life is conspiring to prepare me for parenthood by parading before me an endless array of challenges that feel just a little bit out of my comfort zone. Today I didn't do much of anything, and that was good.

I remember my first real job, as a 16 year old clerk at a now-defunct department store called The May Company, on the East Side of Cleveland. (The store, shown above, is now a Macy's). My parents were pretty terrified of the world, and unsure of its limits, and I too was terrified of doing something wrong on the job and getting fired. I never did get fired, but I witnessed a lot of things I remember, and that convinced me of the idiocy of working for any kind of for-profit business. The funny thing about that was that I wasn't really aware of what one could do besides work at a for-profit business, so I just filed it under my general conviction that the world was a stupid and hypocritical place.

I'll share a few May Company stories, in honor of those who still labor in retail today:

Racism on the Sales Floor
We were trained by a middle aged woman who had an unpleasant schoolteacherish air; in fact, I think she had once been a teacher. During the training, one of the other trainees asked what to do if a customer acted racist towards an employee. Well, the trainer said, it's just not worth dealing with a person like that, so just give the sale to someone else!

An Unfortunate Fainting Spell
One day, while working in ladies blouse department on the first floor (I was putting little size markers on hangers), I fainted, and threw up simultaneously. When I came to, I was sitting at the employee exit on the second floor. They had called my dad, and he was on his way to get me. As I sat there, it came to me that they had carried me upstairs so I could leave via the employee exit. As my father arrived, the owlish HR clerk rushed out with my schedule, saying "It's a good thing you don't have to work tomorrow!"

Grooming on the Job
For the last few months I worked there, I was a stock assistant in the ladies' shoes department. The shoe salespeople were the most exalted line staff in the store, because they got commission, and probably made a salary of something like $35,000 per year in today's dollar. One of them was a young man named James, who loved heavy metal. He was rather sallow, gaunt, had a long ponytail, and was a very successful salesperson. At some point, the powers that be decided that long hair was not permitted. Rather than give up the job, James began wearing a wig to work, which made him look like a cancer patient.

My department store experience, coupled with my father's leftist tendencies and hatred of his job, drove me toward a happy future of nonprofit work. But it also left me with another strange trait: an affinity for department stores. I have a Macy's credit card, and I find myself drawn to the downtown Macy's at least once a month, even though I like very little of the merchandise in the store. In fact, I went there today, and bought a little baby outfit. The staff at Macy's San Francisco is one of the few at any department store in the U.S. who are unionized.