Today I experienced my very first earthquake. That makes today the perfect time to start this series, because now I know everything.
Not really. That's why it's going to be a series. But I have learned a lot over the last five months and now I'm ready to share.
Welcome to California. We're Searching Your Car.
When I was getting ready to move to California I heard a lot of rumors about how much trouble I could get into if I brought any plants with me. I have a philodendron that I've had since 1991 (my mom sent it to me when I wrecked my car in college) and seeing as how it's the only thing besides my cat I've been able to keep alive for more than a week, I wasn't going to give it up easily. I asked around and got pretty much the same story--foreign plants equal heavy fines and confiscation, because they'll do anything to avoid another fruit fly crisis like that one back in the early '80s that was caused by that environmentalist governor who wouldn't spray in time but we won't mention any names. And then I came to Redwood City to look for a place to live, and the guy who showed us around said, "No plants? I've never heard that before."
So I risked it. I put the plants in a box in the back of my car next to the cat carrier and set off on my journey, wondering how much longer Rapunzel and I would be together and what she might cost me.
We entered California on the second day of the trip. We crossed the state line, plants, cat and all. I thought, Well that was stupid. How is anyone even going to know what I'm bringing in here anyway... what's that up ahead, a tollbooth?
It was an inspection station. And no one was getting through without an interrogation and search. There was not a lane that went around it. There was not a U-turn to allow you to go back. You were going through this thing and that was it.
I was asked three questions. "Where are you coming from?" Then, "Are you carrying any fruit or vegetable products?" This is where I turned a little cold. "I have a philodendron, you're welcome to it if it's a problem!" She asked if it was outdoor or indoor, and I gave the right answer: Indoor. So she dug through the leaves a little bit and asked me what kind of animal I was carrying and sent me on my way.
It all seemed a bit dramatic. I wondered if I should write my congressman. And then I remembered who that was. Nevermind.
Keep Our Ditches Safe (Drive Off the Cliff Instead)
California has a real aversion to guardrails, and few places I've driven in my life need them so desperately. You know all those Hollywood scenes where people are run off the road and right down the side of a cliff? There's a reason for that. The reason is that the guardrail is on the other side of the highway, protecting you from that ditch between the road and the mountain you're climbing. But along the edge of the cliff? Forget it. I really don't know what the thinking is here. Does a guardrail obstruct that lovely view of the valley? You know, the one with all the dead people and burned cars at the bottom? Or is a ditch guardrail cheaper than a cliff guardrail because it never needs to be replaced? I have no idea. But I'm gaining some serious upper body strength hanging onto that steering wheel.
Am I Really Supposed to Turn HERE?
I have never seen such a convoluted system of roads as I have since I moved to the Bay Area. I used to live in Austin. There's some long and windy stuff down there, but by God you know a highway entrance ramp when you see one. Here, not so much. My stepmother and I drove around for an hour looking for the entrance ramp to 101 after leaving the Ikea in East Palo Alto, which is on 101. I'm not kidding. You can drive right past the only entrance for miles if you don't know what you're looking for. For instance, if you're looking for a sign that tells you a highway entrance is near, that's your first problem. Don't expect a sign, at least not in time to get into the correct lane. If you see a sign that gives you any warning at all, profusely thank whatever god you worship and then take a picture. Because usually what you'll get is FREEWAY ENTRANCE right where you're supposed to turn and you'd better be in the correct lane when you see it. And you'd better take that ramp, because the next bend in the road will either take you into someone's driveway or get you stuck between the loading dock of a Best Buy and a concrete wall.
Access roads. I miss access roads. Roads that get you to the highway here are just regular roads. If such a road happens to parallel the highway, do not assume that it is an access road. Because I've seen more than one road parallel a highway and NEVER give you access to the actual highway. But if your road does give you access and you drive past the highway because you were supposed to turn left instead of right (if you're perpendicular to the highway, the direction of traffic on said highway has no relationship to which way you turn to get there), you're not likely to find it again today. If you don't happen to miss the on ramp you might still have a wreck trying to figure out if you're really supposed to turn HERE because frankly, it looks like a trap. The entrance to the highway near the Ikea (when we finally found it) required a left turn from the middle of the street. No stop signs, no traffic lights, and of course, no left turn lane. But yes, you are supposed to turn left here, and you'd better hope whoever is behind you stops while you wait for oncoming traffic to clear.
On my way to the DMV in San Mateo I drove through an intersection that scared the crap out of me. I was on a one-way street with two lanes. To my right was a median next to two more lanes coming off the highway, going in the same direction as me. I had a set of stoplights, and THEY had a set of stoplights. The two stoplights operated separately. When my light was green, theirs was red, but I didn't know that because the field of view was so small that only THEY were supposed to know what color their lights were. That did not help me when it came time to turn right in front of two lanes of seemingly stopped cars. I did not trust this. I did not even remotely believe this. What if someone's light malfunctioned? What if the power went out? What if someone got in a hurry and darted across the intersection? What if their light was actually green and they were just slow getting started? I'm making a right turn in front of two stopped lanes of traffic and it is not only legal but designed that way ON PURPOSE. I put all my faith in God that those lanes would stay stopped and I made the turn. Needless to say I lived through it, but I didn't like it. Not one bit.
The DMV: Got Your Checkbook? Take a Number.
It really is a well-oiled machine, but plan on spending a good two days there. My first day at the DMV lasted four hours. First, the driver's license. Get in line to show your birth certificate and get a number. Then when your number is called, get in line to turn in your form and your new voter registration. If you want to be able to vote in a primary, register with a party. Otherwise, no need. Personally I didn't want to make that kind of commitment. Then get in another line to get your thumb printed, sign your name and get your picture taken. Then they hand you a written test. Take the test (you can miss six out of 36 questions). Then get in another line to have your test graded and get your temp permit. Total cost: $28.
Studying for that test will teach you some very important things. Like which way to turn your wheels if you're parking on a hill. Or the fact that it's illegal to talk on your cell phone while driving unless you have a hands-free device. Or that's it's also illegal to smoke with a minor in the car. Really.
Next, vehicle registration, a task that must be completed within ten days of moving to California. No kidding, ten days. So get in the first line again for another number. Fill out forms, then sit in a line in your car waiting for a guy to come look at it. I liked the guy I got, he was from San Antonio so he could tell me the difference between the Texas and California inspections. He looked under the hood and said, "You drove from Texas, didn't you," and then proceeded to identify the various colors of dirt on the engine by state. You don't finish this on the first day because you have to get a smog certification before you can complete the process and get your plates. Smog certification is California's version of a state inspection, except you do it every two years and you can't even register your car without it. And oh yeah, it costs $80. The registration itself cost me $219, and that's for a paid off 2005 Toyota Matrix. If you're driving around in a Hummer, you're screwed.
Come to think of it, I haven't seen one Hummer since I've been here. One of many things that makes the Bay Area better than Plano.
And don't let the lady who gives you your number tell you to get the smog certification first, because the smog guy wanted to see my vehicle registration forms before he would do it. They send that info electronically to the DMV, so you have to have at least started the process. She doesn't know what she's talking about.
It's also a good idea to know where you're going to get your certification done ahead of time. The first place I went to, the guy was on vacation. The second place didn't have time in their schedule until the next Monday. The third place was the charm, but his smog machine quit in mid-inspection so I had to go home and come back when it was running again, which was about an hour later. It's not like going to the local inspection station in Texas on a whim and getting out in 20 minutes. Plan ahead. Start early.
When it's all said and done, you don't have stickers anywhere on your windshield but you do have them on your plates. If you passed the test, you also have a paper license making you a legal California citizen. But you have no money, which makes you one in spirit too.
The Truck Speed Limit: Don't Count on It (Unless You're Late)
I don't care what anyone says, people drive really slowly up here. At least compared to I-75 in Dallas. Sure, you have the occasional crazy person whiz by you in the left lane, but you can easily be going 45 in the right lane (in a 65 zone) and no one will appear to care in the least. I am not used to this. If it says 65, dammit I want to go 65. Because it says I can and I want to get there. Today.
Apparently in this part of California, it's all about the journey. In LA, it's all about the destination. Dallas seems to be closer to LA in that regard.
I often find myself going 55 on the highway because of a truck further ahead. Trucks are supposed to go 55 when everyone else can go 65. Do they actually do it? Never, unless they're in front of you and you're running late.
The Motorcycle: If It Was a Snake, It Would Have Bit You
Here's something that freaked me out the first time it happened and continues to freak me out and will always freak me out as long as I live here: Lane splitting. This is when you're sitting at a stop light or driving on the highway and a motorcycle appears next to you out of nowhere, because he's riding the white line between you and the next guy and nearly taking off your side mirror in the process. This is the most idiotic thing I've ever seen and it's a perfectly legal way for them to get through traffic.
Maybe this explains the lack of guardrails. Natural selection.
TGIBF!
When I first started working here, it was the end of the summer and the DreamWorks cafeteria was still having "barbecue Fridays" where they would grill on the patio and employees would bring their families and eat outside. The first Friday I was here they served ribs. They weren't very good. The second Friday featured some form of lemon chicken with wild rice and parsnips. Parsnips? I don't think so. It was on that day that I realized barbecue in California merely means, "We cooked it outside."
There's a restaurant near my apartment called Armadillo Willy's. The sign boasts "Real Texas Barbecue." Yeah. We'll see about that.
California Really Is Falling Into the Ocean
Throughout most of my childhood in Oklahoma and Texas I heard that California was eventually going to have a big earthquake and fall into the ocean. Well I'm here to tell you that it doesn't need an earthquake to fall into the ocean because it's doing that all by itself. There are various places along the coast that have nothing but building foundations left. They built for the view. The ocean ate the cliff. The cliff fell down. The house went boom.
There's an apartment building in Pacifica that is experiencing this phenomenon right now. They've been shoring up the cliff with giant rocks for weeks as it continues to fall away, bringing the edge of the cliff right up to--and now underneath--the apartment building. I'm not convinced this is actually going to work. At least they evacuated first.
And as for earthquakes, if you don't know anything about them when you get here, your local insurance agent will immediately fill you in. I was happy to see that when I moved here, my car insurance went down slightly and my renter's insurance was cut in half. But I didn't rejoice for too long because that doesn't cover earthquakes. For that, you need to purchase insurance from the California Earthquake Authority, which brings your cost right back up to where it was when you lived in Texas. That is if you get the basic coverage, which pays just $5000 on the contents of your apartment. Well between you and me, that will just cover the cost of my computer, but it does pay $15,000 toward living accommodations while your apartment might be uninhabitable. Since I have no family out here to stay with and few friends as of yet, I figured that was a good thing to have.
They give you all sorts of literature on what is covered, how to prepare and what to do when it happens. Not if, but when, and how bad. They make that very clear. You don't stand in doorways anymore, you get under furniture. You don't go outside. You cable bolt your bookcase to the wall. You put the heavy stuff on the bottom. You use museum putty to stick your knick-knacks down to the mantle.
The insurance doesn't cover glassware or crystal, and it doesn't cover your car. Which perturbs me a bit since everyone in California parks under their building.
Today I experienced my first earthquake. It was a 4.1 at about 10am this morning. I was at the office, sitting at my desk, and the building jolted sideways. Someone said, "Whoa." I sat there for a minute trying to figure out who could have slammed a door so hard that the whole building moved. And then I figured it out. Duh. My cubemate David returned shortly after and said, "Did you have fun?" And I said, "Was that what I thought it was?" And he said he was at another cube at the time and heard the ceiling tiles crackle for a few seconds. To me, it was just a loud boom and a sideways jolt, but yeah, it was fun.
The museum putty worked like a charm. But I'm moving the ceramic cats away from the tile and closer to the carpet.
Seagulls: Big-Ass Chickens that Float
Do you know how big a seagull can get? I didn't until I saw the ones at Fishermen's Wharf. Pretty damn big. About the size of my 17-pound cat big. Really. Big.
Sea chickens. Freakin' huge.
We Told You So.
There's this law that was passed in 1986 called Proposition 65, which says that a business entity of a certain size must warn you of the potential dangers of patronizing that business. For example, if you're at the store and they sell wine (and they all do), I guarantee you there's a sign at the register that says, "WARNING: Drinking Distilled Spirits, Beer, Coolers, Wine and Other Alcoholic Beverages May Increase Cancer Risk, and, During Pregnancy, Can Cause Birth Defects." And at every other building in the state there is a sign that says, "WARNING: This Area Contains Chemicals Known To The State Of California To Cause Cancer And Birth Defects Or Other Reproductive Harm." You know what that means? It means, "We painted the building. Don't lick the walls."
I saw one of these next to a drinking fountain at an apartment I looked at right before I moved here. I kept looking.
And Your Bagger This Evening is Jose Cuervo
I visited a couple of grocery stores before I noticed it: Alcohol. Not just beer and wine alcohol, but Wild Turkey, tequila, Jim Beam, vodka, you name it. No wonder liquor stores are scarce out here. You don't need them. Just grab your pineapple juice from the canned fruit aisle and your Malibu Rum on the way out. And don't forget the Pepto.
The first time I noticed that bottle of Stoli across the aisle from the pickles... yeah, that's when I knew I was home. Of course I'll be getting cancer now.
Not really. That's why it's going to be a series. But I have learned a lot over the last five months and now I'm ready to share.
Welcome to California. We're Searching Your Car.
When I was getting ready to move to California I heard a lot of rumors about how much trouble I could get into if I brought any plants with me. I have a philodendron that I've had since 1991 (my mom sent it to me when I wrecked my car in college) and seeing as how it's the only thing besides my cat I've been able to keep alive for more than a week, I wasn't going to give it up easily. I asked around and got pretty much the same story--foreign plants equal heavy fines and confiscation, because they'll do anything to avoid another fruit fly crisis like that one back in the early '80s that was caused by that environmentalist governor who wouldn't spray in time but we won't mention any names. And then I came to Redwood City to look for a place to live, and the guy who showed us around said, "No plants? I've never heard that before."
So I risked it. I put the plants in a box in the back of my car next to the cat carrier and set off on my journey, wondering how much longer Rapunzel and I would be together and what she might cost me.
We entered California on the second day of the trip. We crossed the state line, plants, cat and all. I thought, Well that was stupid. How is anyone even going to know what I'm bringing in here anyway... what's that up ahead, a tollbooth?
It was an inspection station. And no one was getting through without an interrogation and search. There was not a lane that went around it. There was not a U-turn to allow you to go back. You were going through this thing and that was it.
I was asked three questions. "Where are you coming from?" Then, "Are you carrying any fruit or vegetable products?" This is where I turned a little cold. "I have a philodendron, you're welcome to it if it's a problem!" She asked if it was outdoor or indoor, and I gave the right answer: Indoor. So she dug through the leaves a little bit and asked me what kind of animal I was carrying and sent me on my way.
It all seemed a bit dramatic. I wondered if I should write my congressman. And then I remembered who that was. Nevermind.
Keep Our Ditches Safe (Drive Off the Cliff Instead)
California has a real aversion to guardrails, and few places I've driven in my life need them so desperately. You know all those Hollywood scenes where people are run off the road and right down the side of a cliff? There's a reason for that. The reason is that the guardrail is on the other side of the highway, protecting you from that ditch between the road and the mountain you're climbing. But along the edge of the cliff? Forget it. I really don't know what the thinking is here. Does a guardrail obstruct that lovely view of the valley? You know, the one with all the dead people and burned cars at the bottom? Or is a ditch guardrail cheaper than a cliff guardrail because it never needs to be replaced? I have no idea. But I'm gaining some serious upper body strength hanging onto that steering wheel.
Am I Really Supposed to Turn HERE?
I have never seen such a convoluted system of roads as I have since I moved to the Bay Area. I used to live in Austin. There's some long and windy stuff down there, but by God you know a highway entrance ramp when you see one. Here, not so much. My stepmother and I drove around for an hour looking for the entrance ramp to 101 after leaving the Ikea in East Palo Alto, which is on 101. I'm not kidding. You can drive right past the only entrance for miles if you don't know what you're looking for. For instance, if you're looking for a sign that tells you a highway entrance is near, that's your first problem. Don't expect a sign, at least not in time to get into the correct lane. If you see a sign that gives you any warning at all, profusely thank whatever god you worship and then take a picture. Because usually what you'll get is FREEWAY ENTRANCE right where you're supposed to turn and you'd better be in the correct lane when you see it. And you'd better take that ramp, because the next bend in the road will either take you into someone's driveway or get you stuck between the loading dock of a Best Buy and a concrete wall.
Access roads. I miss access roads. Roads that get you to the highway here are just regular roads. If such a road happens to parallel the highway, do not assume that it is an access road. Because I've seen more than one road parallel a highway and NEVER give you access to the actual highway. But if your road does give you access and you drive past the highway because you were supposed to turn left instead of right (if you're perpendicular to the highway, the direction of traffic on said highway has no relationship to which way you turn to get there), you're not likely to find it again today. If you don't happen to miss the on ramp you might still have a wreck trying to figure out if you're really supposed to turn HERE because frankly, it looks like a trap. The entrance to the highway near the Ikea (when we finally found it) required a left turn from the middle of the street. No stop signs, no traffic lights, and of course, no left turn lane. But yes, you are supposed to turn left here, and you'd better hope whoever is behind you stops while you wait for oncoming traffic to clear.
On my way to the DMV in San Mateo I drove through an intersection that scared the crap out of me. I was on a one-way street with two lanes. To my right was a median next to two more lanes coming off the highway, going in the same direction as me. I had a set of stoplights, and THEY had a set of stoplights. The two stoplights operated separately. When my light was green, theirs was red, but I didn't know that because the field of view was so small that only THEY were supposed to know what color their lights were. That did not help me when it came time to turn right in front of two lanes of seemingly stopped cars. I did not trust this. I did not even remotely believe this. What if someone's light malfunctioned? What if the power went out? What if someone got in a hurry and darted across the intersection? What if their light was actually green and they were just slow getting started? I'm making a right turn in front of two stopped lanes of traffic and it is not only legal but designed that way ON PURPOSE. I put all my faith in God that those lanes would stay stopped and I made the turn. Needless to say I lived through it, but I didn't like it. Not one bit.
The DMV: Got Your Checkbook? Take a Number.
It really is a well-oiled machine, but plan on spending a good two days there. My first day at the DMV lasted four hours. First, the driver's license. Get in line to show your birth certificate and get a number. Then when your number is called, get in line to turn in your form and your new voter registration. If you want to be able to vote in a primary, register with a party. Otherwise, no need. Personally I didn't want to make that kind of commitment. Then get in another line to get your thumb printed, sign your name and get your picture taken. Then they hand you a written test. Take the test (you can miss six out of 36 questions). Then get in another line to have your test graded and get your temp permit. Total cost: $28.
Studying for that test will teach you some very important things. Like which way to turn your wheels if you're parking on a hill. Or the fact that it's illegal to talk on your cell phone while driving unless you have a hands-free device. Or that's it's also illegal to smoke with a minor in the car. Really.
Next, vehicle registration, a task that must be completed within ten days of moving to California. No kidding, ten days. So get in the first line again for another number. Fill out forms, then sit in a line in your car waiting for a guy to come look at it. I liked the guy I got, he was from San Antonio so he could tell me the difference between the Texas and California inspections. He looked under the hood and said, "You drove from Texas, didn't you," and then proceeded to identify the various colors of dirt on the engine by state. You don't finish this on the first day because you have to get a smog certification before you can complete the process and get your plates. Smog certification is California's version of a state inspection, except you do it every two years and you can't even register your car without it. And oh yeah, it costs $80. The registration itself cost me $219, and that's for a paid off 2005 Toyota Matrix. If you're driving around in a Hummer, you're screwed.
Come to think of it, I haven't seen one Hummer since I've been here. One of many things that makes the Bay Area better than Plano.
And don't let the lady who gives you your number tell you to get the smog certification first, because the smog guy wanted to see my vehicle registration forms before he would do it. They send that info electronically to the DMV, so you have to have at least started the process. She doesn't know what she's talking about.
It's also a good idea to know where you're going to get your certification done ahead of time. The first place I went to, the guy was on vacation. The second place didn't have time in their schedule until the next Monday. The third place was the charm, but his smog machine quit in mid-inspection so I had to go home and come back when it was running again, which was about an hour later. It's not like going to the local inspection station in Texas on a whim and getting out in 20 minutes. Plan ahead. Start early.
When it's all said and done, you don't have stickers anywhere on your windshield but you do have them on your plates. If you passed the test, you also have a paper license making you a legal California citizen. But you have no money, which makes you one in spirit too.
The Truck Speed Limit: Don't Count on It (Unless You're Late)
I don't care what anyone says, people drive really slowly up here. At least compared to I-75 in Dallas. Sure, you have the occasional crazy person whiz by you in the left lane, but you can easily be going 45 in the right lane (in a 65 zone) and no one will appear to care in the least. I am not used to this. If it says 65, dammit I want to go 65. Because it says I can and I want to get there. Today.
Apparently in this part of California, it's all about the journey. In LA, it's all about the destination. Dallas seems to be closer to LA in that regard.
I often find myself going 55 on the highway because of a truck further ahead. Trucks are supposed to go 55 when everyone else can go 65. Do they actually do it? Never, unless they're in front of you and you're running late.
The Motorcycle: If It Was a Snake, It Would Have Bit You
Here's something that freaked me out the first time it happened and continues to freak me out and will always freak me out as long as I live here: Lane splitting. This is when you're sitting at a stop light or driving on the highway and a motorcycle appears next to you out of nowhere, because he's riding the white line between you and the next guy and nearly taking off your side mirror in the process. This is the most idiotic thing I've ever seen and it's a perfectly legal way for them to get through traffic.
Maybe this explains the lack of guardrails. Natural selection.
TGIBF!
When I first started working here, it was the end of the summer and the DreamWorks cafeteria was still having "barbecue Fridays" where they would grill on the patio and employees would bring their families and eat outside. The first Friday I was here they served ribs. They weren't very good. The second Friday featured some form of lemon chicken with wild rice and parsnips. Parsnips? I don't think so. It was on that day that I realized barbecue in California merely means, "We cooked it outside."
There's a restaurant near my apartment called Armadillo Willy's. The sign boasts "Real Texas Barbecue." Yeah. We'll see about that.
California Really Is Falling Into the Ocean
Throughout most of my childhood in Oklahoma and Texas I heard that California was eventually going to have a big earthquake and fall into the ocean. Well I'm here to tell you that it doesn't need an earthquake to fall into the ocean because it's doing that all by itself. There are various places along the coast that have nothing but building foundations left. They built for the view. The ocean ate the cliff. The cliff fell down. The house went boom.
There's an apartment building in Pacifica that is experiencing this phenomenon right now. They've been shoring up the cliff with giant rocks for weeks as it continues to fall away, bringing the edge of the cliff right up to--and now underneath--the apartment building. I'm not convinced this is actually going to work. At least they evacuated first.
And as for earthquakes, if you don't know anything about them when you get here, your local insurance agent will immediately fill you in. I was happy to see that when I moved here, my car insurance went down slightly and my renter's insurance was cut in half. But I didn't rejoice for too long because that doesn't cover earthquakes. For that, you need to purchase insurance from the California Earthquake Authority, which brings your cost right back up to where it was when you lived in Texas. That is if you get the basic coverage, which pays just $5000 on the contents of your apartment. Well between you and me, that will just cover the cost of my computer, but it does pay $15,000 toward living accommodations while your apartment might be uninhabitable. Since I have no family out here to stay with and few friends as of yet, I figured that was a good thing to have.
They give you all sorts of literature on what is covered, how to prepare and what to do when it happens. Not if, but when, and how bad. They make that very clear. You don't stand in doorways anymore, you get under furniture. You don't go outside. You cable bolt your bookcase to the wall. You put the heavy stuff on the bottom. You use museum putty to stick your knick-knacks down to the mantle.
The insurance doesn't cover glassware or crystal, and it doesn't cover your car. Which perturbs me a bit since everyone in California parks under their building.
Today I experienced my first earthquake. It was a 4.1 at about 10am this morning. I was at the office, sitting at my desk, and the building jolted sideways. Someone said, "Whoa." I sat there for a minute trying to figure out who could have slammed a door so hard that the whole building moved. And then I figured it out. Duh. My cubemate David returned shortly after and said, "Did you have fun?" And I said, "Was that what I thought it was?" And he said he was at another cube at the time and heard the ceiling tiles crackle for a few seconds. To me, it was just a loud boom and a sideways jolt, but yeah, it was fun.
The museum putty worked like a charm. But I'm moving the ceramic cats away from the tile and closer to the carpet.
Seagulls: Big-Ass Chickens that Float
Do you know how big a seagull can get? I didn't until I saw the ones at Fishermen's Wharf. Pretty damn big. About the size of my 17-pound cat big. Really. Big.
Sea chickens. Freakin' huge.
We Told You So.
There's this law that was passed in 1986 called Proposition 65, which says that a business entity of a certain size must warn you of the potential dangers of patronizing that business. For example, if you're at the store and they sell wine (and they all do), I guarantee you there's a sign at the register that says, "WARNING: Drinking Distilled Spirits, Beer, Coolers, Wine and Other Alcoholic Beverages May Increase Cancer Risk, and, During Pregnancy, Can Cause Birth Defects." And at every other building in the state there is a sign that says, "WARNING: This Area Contains Chemicals Known To The State Of California To Cause Cancer And Birth Defects Or Other Reproductive Harm." You know what that means? It means, "We painted the building. Don't lick the walls."
I saw one of these next to a drinking fountain at an apartment I looked at right before I moved here. I kept looking.
And Your Bagger This Evening is Jose Cuervo
I visited a couple of grocery stores before I noticed it: Alcohol. Not just beer and wine alcohol, but Wild Turkey, tequila, Jim Beam, vodka, you name it. No wonder liquor stores are scarce out here. You don't need them. Just grab your pineapple juice from the canned fruit aisle and your Malibu Rum on the way out. And don't forget the Pepto.
The first time I noticed that bottle of Stoli across the aisle from the pickles... yeah, that's when I knew I was home. Of course I'll be getting cancer now.
