Just over a year ago, I went to the San Francisco Pride Parade with people I knew from NASA. It was hot on Market Street and we struggled to find each other, with phone calls of where are you and what’s in front of you. Around 4 pm or so, I hopped onto a BART bound for the East Bay and got off at Lake Merrit. I was feeling tired, but I never break promises. The station was nearly desolate except for a lone wanderer.
In the distance as I walked, I saw the large rubber duck floating on Lake Merrit. Part of the lake was filled with rubber duckies floating merrily. The derby was smaller than I thought. There were a lot of people on the hill behind the Children’s Fairyland. I scanned the grass and looked for people I recognized. And I spotted them, up high spread on blankets. I walked over and greeted everyone. I really only knew one person well and the other few I knew distinctly as aquaintances.
Afterwards, someone suggested we go get tacos off of International—the ghetto part of Oakland. I had just wanted something like that. We all packed into an Acura Legend, reminding me of my dad’s 1988 car. I sat in the left back, thankful for not sitting in the middle.
There at the trucks, I bought a taco because I don’t like beans. Then I bought a horchata from another truck. I sat across from Chris and noted how he got one too. It was really the first time we had a conversation of substance. He and I both found out that we always try to get a horchata anytime we had mexican. I made fun of his man purse and gave him my Carnegie Mellon business card because he said he would help me find a job.
He never really did give me any referrals for jobs.