I had dinner last week in Fisherman's Wharf. As I was kind of early, I walked around, up and down the pier. On my way back to the restaurant, I was mulling over about twenty or thirty things going on in my head when I heard a loud roar. I jumped back about ten feet, totally bugged eye. It was probably around eight feet or so when I realized that the roar was that of the Bush Man, the guy in Fisherman's Wharf who hangs out and jumps out in an attempt to scare tourists and get some money for his effort. It was also about eight feet back when I realized that all of this was being seen by about twenty tourists who were all scattered around the Wharf and having watched the whole ruckus, were now laughing and clapping at the show. That show, of course, being me scared half to death.

I'm not sure which is more embarassing-- that after living in the city for over fifteen years I still got punked by somebody I should have known was there or that I got punked by something most tourists had seen coming for miles.