I lasted for about a year. But I came to realize that I didn’t handle constant criticism that well, and realized I needed to get out. This happened twice and as I look back, it was as much my fault as anyone’s. I was trained to perform and to expect appreciation. When I did perform and was instead reprimanded, I couldn’t handle it. I think it was part of growing up (admittedly at a late age) but I was growing up to realize that my brain and experience was as good (if not better) than the person teling me what to do. Not a good situation.
So a job opening (Director of California Marketing) in San Francisco came up and I took it. Rhodes was firmly ensconced in Austin, so I packed up all our stuff, including the little red 911 Porche, and rented a car for the trip out west. Rhodes drove with me to San Francisco along with MamaCat in a carrier and then he flew back to Austin. MamaCat was suitably sedated for the ride, but I was convinced she was so quiet that she must be dead, so Rhodes had to keep poking her to assure me all the way to California.
Once we reached San Francisco, I dropped Rhodes off at the airport, and took off for the city. I was so lucky that it ended up that the San Francisco office had a wonderful office manager named Naomi. She had found me an apartment right in the city (1234 Jones Street) that would let me keep MamaCat who had recovered from the trip and was reassuringly moving.
The apartment even had a Jacuzzi tub which was a new treat for me. I had brought some bubble bath with me to luxuriate after the trip and tossed it in the tub as it filled up. BUT I hadn’t taken into account the action of the Jacuzzi tub and the production of enormous amounts of bubbles. I was absolutely panic-stricken. I could just imagine the mountains of billowing bubbles going out the window and rolling down the hills. Fortunately, I managed to contain the bubbles in the bathroom and MamaCat and I feel deliciously asleep.
Thank goodness the apartment building had parking in the basement. Just driving a Porsche 911 in San Francisco’s hills was a challenge and the parking space was JUST big enough. The office was on the 29th floor in the Bank of America Building right downtown. Many times it was just a relief to walk back and forth to work.
I only had the apartment for two weeks, so I started right away looking for a permanent place. I think I was a combination of extremely naive and utterly impractical when I found a place I just fell in love with. It was right on Lombard Street (the crooked street) in the back at the end of a driveway and behind a fence. It was a magical cottage sitting in the midst of a forest of trees and green. Jolinda and Doug Sim owned the cottage and the four-story house in front. They were both wonderful and I signed the papers before they could change their mind. They even said okay to MamaCat even though Jolinda was allergic to cats.