A Street Car Named Desire

Yesterday, I [innocently] spent the afternoon shopping near Union Square, and [innocently] took the street car back (and No, I don't mean the cable car-- no one in SF actually rides those!).

I say "innocently" because I ended up in a situation that I definitely wasn't expecting: It just so happens that yesterday was the Folsom Street Fair-- and If you think that a Gay Pride Parade is over the top, you should never, never venture out of doors during the Folsom Street Fair.

Since I am afraid to actually look at the website, I will explain, from my observation what the Folsom Street Fair is: It is every gay man in San Francisco dressing in bondage (or less) and having a huge, umm, "party" out on Folsom. What I didn't know was that it also involves riding the F-Line Street Car home at approximately 6pm on Sunday afternoon. That's where I come in...

I was trapped in the very, very back of the street car when it suddenly filled up with men coming from the Folsom Street Fair. There literally was not an inch to spare in the car, and everywhere I looked, there were shirtless men in leather pants and various arm cuffs & bands & straps being very, ummm, affectionate with each other. Yikes! What's a girl to do but casually look out the window & pretend that nothing is out of place. That is, until my stop came, and I had to push my way through the crowd of sweaty leather-clad men with my giant Banana Republic bag. Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me. Sorry. Hehe, sorry. This is my stop. Sorry.

Wow. Welcome to San Francisco