Visitors
from around the world flock to San Francisco and often find the city too cold. Residents
laugh at that. The tourists come at the height of summer. Yet San Francisco
seems warmest in the autumn. That
October day was no different; perfect weather for game three of the World
Series. The Series was entirely a Bay area event that year with San Francisco’s
Giants playing their rivals, the Oakland Athletics. The A’s had won the first
two games, but game three was being played in San Francisco’s Candlestick Park
and the Giants were hoping for a home-team advantage.
I was
sitting at my desk in my bookstore when the computer screen flickered briefly.
I tried to hit the two keys on the keyboard that would save my document, but
the keyboard wouldn’t hold still long enough. The screen went dark and the
lights inside the bookstore went out.
A
roar drowned out the sound of the rush-hour traffic. At four minutes past five
the afternoon traffic was always heavy, but this wasn’t traffic; it was the
city itself—the entire city—groaning as it was lurched from side to side. Waves
moved under my feet, I was surfing on land. The waves clearly came from the
south hitting the front of the shop and flowing through it. Books on the shelves
lurched first toward me, sprang back and then jerked in the opposite direction.
How
many more minutes would go by before it would stop? What seemed so endless at
the time was just 15 seconds in duration.