As I walk along Columbus Avenue on my way to work, I quickly dodge an electric scooter zooming down the sidewalk, narrowly missing hapless pedestrians. The scooter isn’t being ridden by a rambunctious 10-year-old. It is commandeered by what appears to be a fully-grown adult.
Moments later, I spot a twenty-something dude wearing a hoodie and surly attitude careening down the street on a skateboard. At first glance, it looks like he’s dressed to meet his bros at the skate park. But then I realize that he’s on his way to work. He may even be the CEO.
Next door to my office, a hip new workshare space has just opened. The brightly colored décor could be described as Early Sesame Street; the interior is filled with bicycles, beanbag chairs, and the mandatory ping-pong table. I almost expect to see juice boxes and stuffed animals. (One such facility in SOMA is fittingly named “Sandbox Suites”).
Welcome to San Francisco. Or, as I like to call it, “The City That Won’t Grow Up.” Aka “Daycare by the Bay.”
The city that was once home to rebellious Sixties youth culture is now ground zero for Peter Pan Syndrome.
I suspect Peter himself would be proud of the inhabitants of this new Neverland. These kids haven’t just embraced their inner child—they’ve got that child in a death grip and they’re not letting go.
No wonder cupcake shops have sprung up on every corner. The young women on my morning bus clutch their enormous BPA-free water bottles as if cradling giant sippy cups. And while our local Millennials gladly leave home without an American Express Card, they wouldn’t dream of going out without their emotional-support Labradoodle.
So it’s no surprise that San Francisco is home to the Museum of Ice Cream. According to its website, the museum was inspired by the founder’s “childhood dream of jumping into a pool full of sprinkles.”
In a recent article, the twenty-something museum founder and creative director enthused, “…after my visit to the San Francisco Museum of Ice Cream, 10 plastic sprinkles shook loose from the inside of my shoe. On an otherwise bland day of adulting, the colorful little keepsakes were a welcome reminder to lighten up…”
Yes, adulting can get old fast. And in San Francisco, if there’s one thing no one wants to do, it’s get old. Or even put on their big-boy pants.
Fortunately for the “I Won’t Grow Up—Or Do Any Adulting!” crowd, they live in a city that indulges their every whim. Like a permissive parent who refuses to discipline an impudent child, San Francisco enables immature and sometimes bad behavior all under the guise of “innovation,” “creativity,” and the ever-popular “disruption.” Want to ride your electric scooter on the sidewalk? No problem! Feel like skateboarding in the middle of traffic, and maybe running a few red lights? Awesome, dude! Can’t wait to board a crowded Muni bus, oblivious to the fact that you are smashing your super-sized backpack into other passengers? You go right ahead, sweetheart! After all, the world revolves around YOU.
This is what happens when a generation sorely in need of adult supervision is given free rein in a city that refuses to create—let alone enforce—sensible rules or regulations of any kind. Our already legendary reputation for tolerance has reached new levels of absurdity.
Sure, things were always lax here. But now that the entire place has been infected by the “move fast and break things” startup ethos, virtually anything goes. Bad behavior is not only tolerated—it’s celebrated. It seems a lot of nice things, from common courtesy to pedestrian safety, are getting broken in the process.
Of course, San Francisco’s overly permissive attitude is hardly limited to young people. But the city’s youthful denizens certainly know how to exploit it to the max.
Am I just an embittered, old person who wants to deny the kids their fun? Probably. But I know I’m not the only longtime San Francisco resident who is constantly astonished at the behavior of our younger neighbors. The city is their playground. The rest of us just live in it.
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