After these events took place, I made a social media post. Although not a polished piece of writing, it was popular enough to share here. I’ve modified it slightly.

An Average Morning in San Francisco

First, I stop by stop by Dog Eared Books to pick up Blindsight — a heavy, ultra-nerdy sci fi novel — which was on reserve. At the checkout counter, I’m tempted by seductive titles such as “Queer Werewolves Destroy Capitalism,” and “Drug Use for Grown-Ups” but I exercise self-control. I’ve bought too many books already this week.

Next, I introduce my friend Jason to Craftsman and Wolves, a San Francisco staple. We order two Rebel Withins, one veggie and one meat. This cafe is famous for these pastries consisting of a soft boiled boiled egg surrounded by a savory, buttery dough. But, don’t worry: this cafe has avocado toast as well — with optional vegan sausage, to boot.

Jason and I admire all the delicate petite gateaus in the case. All perfectly shiny and each a unique bulbous shape, they remind me of the Bean sculpture by Anish Kapoor, and are similarly priced; yet more appetizing and much more artistic. I remark upon their cost, and the barista must have overhead me, for she disappears into the kitchen and returns bearing an entremet that resembles bright orange bubble wrap. “We can’t sell this,” she says, “It’s got a chip in the corner. Would you like it?” Hell yes. SCORE!

We’re savoring our lattes and delicately poking at the passion fruit mouse when two dogs come into the shop. One is a tiny chihuahua perched in its owner’s hoodie. The other is…I don’t know — a larger dog on a leash; I’m not good with dog breeds. The larger dog approaches the chihuahua, who is offended by this breech upon her territory, and she starts yipping madly at him, warning him to back off. The friendly barista observes this interaction, and the chihuahua’s owner apologizes, “Sorry, she’s a bit of a brat.”

The barista smiles. “It’s ok. This is a brat friendly environment.” She then winks knowingly in my direction.

This somehow gives me permission to interject, “Oh, good, I’m glad I’m welcome here!” which feels like the most natural thing to say in this situation.

She turns to face me, and her wink evolves into a grin. “And, this dog’s name is Sophie. Maybe Sophies are naturally brats.”

All of us — me, the barista, Jason, the 2 dogs — share a chuckle. I leave the shop warmed, not just by my organic oat latte, but by the knowledge that San Francisco is a brat safe city.

— Written on Jan 18, 2024