White Rabbit

At what point, or by what process, does one become a San Franciscan? How long do you have to reside in S.F. County before you can call it home? How many jobs, or bars does one have to frequent? Hell, I resided in Cherry Hill, N.J. for 8 years and never felt even remotely comfortable there. I lived and worked in Silicon Valley for 2 years and felt like I was amongst a race of sneaky aliens cleverly disguised as humans. Only through thin cracks in their façade of normalcy, was I able to view the dim light that showed through their faces into their souls, baring the horrible truth: I was surrounded by republican, surfer, druggies from a distant planet similar in topography and climate(social and otherwise) to "Dust Bowl Era" Oklahoma. I had a tough time in San Jose.

I've now lived in S.F. for 22 years and it is indeed home. I may not be a native, but it's my town, and I like it here. However 22 years does not make one a homie. The true rite of passage is acceptance at Sam Wo's Chop Suey joint on Washington St. just west of Grant, where rude service have been a tradition for many decades. I can now go in there and be treated like an honored guest. For example, I don't have silverware thrown at me 15 minutes after sitting at a greasy table and asking for tea doesn't evoke anger from the wait staff. This, of course, was not always the case.

My first visit to Sam Wo's was around 1980. I'd come up to the city from San Jose with 3 other people, and after wandering around C'town, we walked into the kitchen of Sam Wo's, up two flights of stairs, and settled into a table. A waiter, possibly the original owner, Edsel Ford Fong, spewed some Cantonese at us, and threw silverware on our table. We looked at each other, then looked at our waiter(and wine steward), who was pointing at us and laughing, urging another member of his staff to join in the ridicule. He had insulted us. We did not feel like honored guests. It must be noted that we'd misunderstood the nature of the insult.(Gruff behavior and deliberate service was de riguer in most Chinese restaurants in C'town. Of course with today's economy, most of the eateries in C'town offer friendlier service, with the cuisine being the insult.) Our waiter's slight was not in the tossing of the spoons and forks, but the fact that he served us spoons and forks at all. Only Yankee dogs, with newly evolved, opposable thumbs need forks, while the rest of the world manages quite well with chopsticks. We were not worthy of chopsticks and when we asked for some, he cackled like an insane waiter/rooster. Not too far into our meal, we were relieved to witness similar treatment to other diners. I've always felt that you only get one chance to make a first impression, and our waiter ......well he didn't make a good impression on me.

I moved to the city in '81, and began to frequent Sam Wo's. The prices have always been rock bottom and they serve till 3AM every night but Sunday. I was abused, or at least slighted, every time I went in there, but I began to see some entertainment value in the effrontery of the staff. It was all a put-on and actually attracted tourists who wanted to witness the incredibly bad service first hand. A friend of mine once made the mistake of asking for brown rice. The waiter brought him white rice. He asked again for brown rice and the waiter ignored him. My friend, not be deterred, asked a third time for brown rice, to which the thoroughly exasperated waiter replied, "You want brown rice? Put soy sauce on white rice, then you get brown rice."

I began going into Sam Wo's on my breaks from cab driving. Starting in the late '80's, a certain Mr. Lee ruled the second floor, and he was neither friendly nor unfriendly, although I think my cab badge moved me up a notch in social status from untouchable, to common, garden variety cur. (A lot of cabbies eat at Sam Wo's, and tip reasonably well.) I eventually learned to tip not only the wait staff, but also the kitchen staff, which is a tradition, amongst those in the know. Mr. Lee warmed up to me(and my tips) and would hail me like a long lost conquering warrior, returning from a distant war, anytime I came in. Tables of goofy, post preppie, pre-yuppie, Pac 10 grads would eye me with contempt/envy as I pimp rolled onto the second floor(the third floor is closed after about 10:30PM), happy to be an honored guest at Chez   Sam's. Mr. Lee and I had a time tested dialogue with each other:

"Hello Mr. Lee!"

"Hello!"

Upon departure: "Goodnight Mr. Lee."

"O.K., see you next time." The guy loved my ass.

Sometime in the late nineties, Mr. Lee disappeared. I believe he's passed on however, getting   information from anyone that works at Sam Wo's has been fruitless. "Mr. Lee sick...sick!"   A woman in her early sixties took his place. She didn't know me and I was back to square one. I felt like a 4th grader coming home from school for lunch to a completely different mother. A lifetime of ass kissing down the tubes, and nothing ahead but a horizon smothered with endless rows of unpicked cotton.

I didn't have the time or energy to start over with this lady, so I implemented an aggressive tipping policy soon after our first encounter. She's warmed up pretty well, but it's been a slow, steady process. I've had to build up years of trust between us and I think I can speak for both of us when I say that the effort has been somewhat cathartic, as well as a learning process, and not without it's rewards. I got her pretty well trained at this point. As soon as I enter the second floor dining area, she coos like a morning dove and announces my regular order: "Pork Chow Mein with Chinese Greens". I don't dare order anything else and disappoint or confuse the dear girl. We have an excellent relationship and I can only wish her a long and happy life. Mostly long.

Last year, my regular waitress, whose name I don't know, began giving me a treat at the end of my meals. A small, chewy, roll of vanilla candy, wrapped in rice paper, called White Rabbit. She recently gave me two White Rabbits at the end of a meal. This is pretty heady stuff from a woman who regularly takes food orders from customers while talking on her cell phone. (Sam Wo's cell phone policy is very liberal, and actually encourages cell phone use by customers and staff.) That second White Rabbit reassures and reaffirms my San Franciscan status, and makes me feel like I'm a part of this great city. And as I drive the cab, my eyes are on the road, and my auto-pilot, public face/mind is pondering answers to the usual questions, "Where are you from?"; "How long have you been driving a cab?"; "How often do you have to change the brakes in this thing?"; "Don't you think Fell would have been quicker?"; "Where were you during the earthquake?", while my subconscious is counting off the minutes till a lull in the action commands break time and Pork Chow Mein w/ Chinese Greens, followed by White Rabbit, not to be confused with Welsh Rarebit, or anything else under the sun or moon.         

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