Something big happened this past Wednesday. No, I’m not referring to the homeless fellow who graced me with his ability to urinate between two parked cars on my way to work. I’m talking about the arrival of my wife.
I was in San Francisco for over a week without her. The stress was starting to take its toll. I really needed someone to lay my clothes out for work. Every night I wept for her; my face buried in a pillow trying to muffle the heaving sobs from Brad and Alice, the friends kind enough to let me sleep on their couch.
Finally on Wednesday, in the middle of baggage claim #6 at SFO, the two of us embraced. Cue the sappy love music. Then Lisa’s flight arrived and I was forced to part ways with the burly American Airlines bag thrower. On the drive home, with Lisa in the passenger seat, it hit me. We finally made it. We were both in San Francisco, together, and it felt good. But something was missing.
The sea lions.
For two decades sea lions have resided on Pier 39 of Fisherman’s Wharf. Tourists gather everyday to gawk at hundreds and hundreds of these slovenly creatures. They lay there on wooden planks, sunning their massive bodies and barking at ear drum shattering level – picture your stereotypical Dallas Cowboy fan on game day.
The sea lions first showed up in 1990 when a large herring run lured them into the San Francisco bay. Since then, they’ve been a staple of the pier – probably realizing funnel cakes and sourdough bread tastes far superior to herring. At any given time, there were approximately 1,500 sea lions. Then, this past November, marine biologists counted 927. Seven days later; 20.
Now they’re gone. Vanished, just like the chances of the Dallas Cowboys going to the Superbowl. Experts don’t know why or where they went. The hippies on Haight say the sea lions fled for safety. They talk about how some animals have a sixth sense and can predict natural disasters; like tornados, hurricanes or me passing gas. Now, with this Haiti disaster, people are really getting worked up.
But I have my theory.
Those slippery son-of-a-bitches heard we were coming, and they knew we were going to own this city. Plus, Lisa’s been in the market for a new pair of sea lion cowboy boots.
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