"It's that thing that moms do, right?"

Episode 1...in which I am forced to sleep in the top bunk.

I arrived at the airport with ample time to make my way through U.S. Customs and grab a tea from Starbucks. I walked up to the customs agent, handed him my passport and boarding pass and prepared myself for "the questions."

Customs: Why are you going to San Francisco?
Me: I'm attending a conference and then taking a vacation.
Customs: What's the conference about?
Me: It's about blogging.
Customs: [blank, but intimidating, stare]
Me: Sort of like keeping a journal, but doing it online so people can read it.
Customs: It's that thing that moms do, right?
Me: Well, yeah, some moms do it. I'm not a mom, but my mom likes to read my blog.
Customs: So you're going to San Francisco to hang out with a bunch of "internet friends." [quotation marks very much emphasized] Why would you want to go to a blogging conference?
Me: Because I'm a huge geek.
Customs: [laughs, thank god!] And what do you do for a living?
Me: I'm doing my Master's Degree in Library Science and I work in a library.
Customs: I see...[taking in all my geekiness] Well, enjoy your blog conference then.

The first thing I notice after making my way through the security gates is that my flight is "tard." Now, being that I only took French until Grade 7 it took me a few seconds for my brain to realise that my flight was delayed. Fortunately, I brought a book: "Oil" by Upton Sinclair.

I eventually arrived in San Francisco, albeit about two hours late than I had expected. From the BART station I walked to the hostel that I was staying at and into the cacophony of young, fresh European tourists crowding the lobby. I'm not an impatient person, but after being fobbed off by the first desk clerk that I approached I was getting a little annoyed by the disorganization of the line and the apparent disregard to people (ie. me) who had been waiting their turn. Eventually I began the check-in procedures that included: multiple interruptions, most notably moments where the clerk flirted with some Irish girls, a phone call made on my cell phone to confirm that I was who I was (hello roaming charges!), a lot of banter and the turning over of a pillowcase filled with a sheet and a scratchy towel. It took at least half an hour and I wasn't too jazzed about it.

I made my way up to my dorm. I haven't stayed at a hostel for over ten years and I was trying to be open-minded about it, but the first thing that I noticed was that someone had made themselves comfortable in my bunk. I could have argued with them and fought for it, but I really wanted to get to the Blogher Newbie Mixer party, so I didn't. I climbed the wobbly bunkbed ladder and made my bunk. I would have liked to have changed or put on some lipstick, but there was no time...I dashed out the door and up the street to the oppulent St. Francis Hotel. With ten minutes to spare, I made my way up to the top floor of the hotel and dashed to the bar just in time to grab an egg roll and a glass of white wine. Phewph! That's where I met Lori, who was kind enough to chat with me while I came down from my hostel experience.

It was around this time that I realised I was starving. There weren't many options, so I went into the first place I saw: a 24-hour diner at Mason and O'Farrell. It was there that I was rescued by a table of bloggers who helped make me feel like a human being again.

Back to the hotel after a plate of eggs and toast, I tip-toed into the darkness of my dorm where I crept into the bathroom only to realise that there wasn't a sink. I brushed my teeth and washed my face in the bathtub. Classy...

Next time...Lydia says "We've got to get out of that hostel!" and I wholeheartedly agree.