Bohemian Delilah

One thing I missed in San Francisco was the way people in the East talk to each other. It’s more than small talk—people here and in Boston (I’ve never lived anywhere else, but I think it’s true up and down the coast.) actually go deeper than that, telling your cashier about your husband’s illness after he explodes at her or talking to a man on the bus about your daughter’s school work.

The other day I, as I was walking to work, a line of five cars was stuck behind a cab. Everyone started beeping at the cab. An older woman was slowly emerging from the cab, tugging a couple of bags and her walker. It took maybe two minutes, and by the time she was half-way out of the cab each of the cars could see what was going on, yet, the horns continued to blare.

She stepped onto the sidewalk and smiled at me. “People are in such a hurry these days,” she said.

“I know, but who cares, you shouldn’t listen to them,” I replied, noticing that the cabbie had stayed to watch her get safely to the corner and was now driving away.

“Y’know, sweetie, you’re right.” And she put her bags down and flipped off each of the drivers.