Why do you hate me, San Rafael? Why!?

A hungry man's quest for a late night dinner in a town that's closed

Hi there, situation normies! And also, hey there, situation normies!

Last week,

Amber Marshall

had a great idea that I’m totally stealing. Don’t even try to sue me, Amber. I have a law license and time on my hands. Anyway, here’s Amber’s my idea:

Your questions at the end of your posts are a great way to elicit comments, but showcasing your favorite in the next post is an EXCELLENT way to get us all competing with each other for funniest/most insightful to get the spotlight. That's my advice.

I can’t wait to see the comments after this week’s story! But first, a little business.

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If you believe what you read on the internet, it was Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu who wrote, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” But that’s not true. A journey of a thousand miles actually begins with a single question: where can you get dinner after 10pm in San Rafael, California?

Christina and I went to San Rafael for a wedding. We flew up Friday night on the 6pm Southwest flight from Burbank to Oakland. Before we got on the plane, right around 4:45pm, Christina asked a very smart question: “Do you want to get something to eat?”

“No, it’s too late for lunch and too early for dinner.”

“Yeah, but by the time we land, get our rental car, drive to San Rafael, and check into the hotel, everything could be closed.”

“That’s ridiculous! In America? No way.”

While I sung the praises of a fast food consumer culture that’s always there for you, ran or shine, day or night, Christina ate tacos. The tacos at the Burbank airport aren’t great, according to Christina, in fact they’re an affront to the taco-loving world. But as I later learned, the Burbank airport tacos will sustain you.

Waiting at the gate, I tried to get into Baltimore Blues by Laura Lippman. The novel is a page-turner, but Lippman’s story of murder and corruption had nothing on the guy sitting next to me.

At the time, I took that man at face value. He was a candy bar connoisseur who book-ended his guilty pleasures—Snickers and Twix—with the guilt-free pleasures of the Kind Bar, which is also a candy bar, despite the marketing. As I noted, he was a “damn legend.” Only later did I realize that the man with the voracious appetite was also a harbinger.

The flight up to Oakland was quick—too quick to bother with the complimentary beverage and snack.

The Oakland airport was a shit-show, but all airports are shit-shows, especially when you’re just trying to collect your luggage and GTFO.

The situation at the car rental counter was slow and unremarkable, save for one detail. The rental agent refused waive the fee to add me to Christina’s reservation because we couldn’t prove that we were married.

“Your last names don’t match and neither do the addresses on your licenses.”

I flashed my wedding band and said, “She’s a modern woman, and the California DMV is an archaic bureaucracy.”

The rental agent agreed with both statements, but denied my request. The squabble added a little more time to our journey and few more bucks to our bill. But soon enough we were on our way to San Rafael.

It was just after 10pm when we got to our room.

“I’m starving,” I declared. “Are you hungry?”

Christina reminded me about the tacos, which in hindsight were beginning to look like a very smart decision.

I checked the food options at our hotel and quickly realized that our hotel didn’t have any food options. Then I checked Yelp. I filtered my search to find dining options that were walking distance to the hotel and open. Yelp spat out a few results, but it also gave me cause for alarm. Most of the restaurants in San Rafael were closed, and those that remained open would be closing soon.

“We gotta get a move on,” I said.

“You go. I’m just gonna take a shower and watch TikTok.”

I grabbed the room key, laced up my shoes, and put on a sweatshirt. Like hunter-gathers in the days of yore, I left my woman behind and set out into the dark night looking for dinner.

I felt like a burger, so I chose a bar and grill about a mile from our hotel. The walk gave me plenty of time to take in San Rafael. What a cute town, I thought. Quaint! San Rafael felt like the kind of town where the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker know your name. But it was also the kind of town that rolls up the sidewalks at sundown.

There was a bouncer standing outside the bar and grill. He looked like a member of the Hell’s Angels, but it’s also possible he was just a really big Sons of Anarchy fan.

“I just want to get something to eat,” I said.

The bouncer explained that the kitchen was closed. Evidently, the bar and grill was just a bar at this point in the evening. Since it was getting late and I hadn’t seen any signs of life on my walk through town, I asked the bouncer if he knew where I could get something to eat.

“Not a lot of options this time of night,” he said.

That was fine. I wasn’t picky. All I needed was one option.

“There’s a Chinese restaurant,” he said.

“I’m not from around here. Can you give me directions?”

The bouncer gave me directions that sent me back the way I came. When I got to my hotel, I made a right because that’s what the bouncer said I should do.

I walked another mile. I passed a vegan restaurant that looked open. But when I went inside, the hostess told me they had served their last tempeh “bacon” “cheese” burger.

It was the same story at a falafel joint, a taco shop, and a pizza parlor. Every place that looked open was actually closing up. I tried not to take it personally, but the more I walked and the hungrier I got, the more I began to think that San Rafael had it in for me.

Then I saw an undeniable sign of life. A movie theater all lit up. There was a crowd in the lobby, and the crowd was so big that it spilled out onto the sidewalk. I checked the marquee. A documentary film festival. Surely, I thought, some of these people must want a bit to eat after binging nonfiction films.

I asked a few people in the crowd if they knew where I could get something to eat. A few people told me they weren’t from San Rafael. They had no idea. A few people told me they were from San Rafael. They said I was shit out of luck.

I kept on walking. Had I missed the Chinese restaurant? Had the bouncer lied to me? Had he imagined it? Had I imagined the bouncer? I was willing to believe any of these possibilities, but then I saw a place that was full of people. It was called the Double Rainbow Cafe. If there was a pot of gold at the end of one rainbow, I thought, surely there would be something to eat at the Double Rainbow.

And there was something to eat. Ice cream. And frozen yogurt.

“You don’t have anything that’s like, um, dinner?” I asked the kid behind the counter.

“We have sandwiches.”

OK! A sandwich could be dinner. But then the kid behind the counter broke the bad news.

“But we stopped serving sandwiches. Just dessert right now.”

Fuck!

Was San Rafael plotting against me? Yes it was.

I decided to pull out my phone and consult Yelp one last time. Everything was closed, everything except the Chinese restaurant the bouncer had mentioned. But where was this mythical Chinese restaurant? I had followed the bouncer’s directions, struck out with the vegans, struck out with the Mexicans, struck out again with the Middle East, and made it 0 for 4 with the Italians. Now, the Double Rainbow had led me to fool’s gold.

But the Chinese restaurant was open. It was called Yet Wah, and it would be my salvation, if I could find it.

I pressed the button to map my route to Yet Wah. Then I howled at the moon.

Motherfucker!

The bouncer had told me to make a right, but he should’ve said to make a left. Worse, after walking the empty streets of San Rafael, I knew the town as well as the locals, or maybe better than some of the locals. (Looking at you, Sons of Anarchy).

I knew exactly where to find Yet Wah. It was around the corner from our hotel, roughly three hundred feet from where I had first begun a journey worthy of the Lao Tzu treatment.

I hauled ass back the way I came. I passed our hotel and kept walking. Three hundred feet later, I stepped into Yet Wah. It was crowded, probably because it was the only place that was open in San Rafael this time of night.

I got a table by the window. I waved off the menu and asked for the orange chicken because every Chinese restaurant in America has orange chicken, and looking at the menu would just be a waste of time at this point.

While I waited for my food, I eavesdropped on the table next to me. A couple on a date had gone to the film festival. She was horrified by a documentary about the legal limbo of DACA recipients. He was horrified too, but his horror didn’t stop him from mansplaining.

“I’m not a lawyer…” he began, before launching into detailed analysis of the opaque, and let’s face it, corrupt Kabuki theater that passes for Supreme Court jurisprudence in the early twenty-first century.

How long did the man’s lecture last?

Long enough for his date to down two glasses of white wine.

Long enough for the kitchen at Yet Wah to cook and plate an order of orange chicken and side of brown rice.

Long enough for your intrepid correspondent to eat his dinner, pay the bill, and get his fortune.

Want more Michael Estrin stories? I’ve got books!

• Ride/Share: Micro Stories of Soul, Wit and Wisdom from the Backseat is a collection of my Lyft driver stories🚗🗣

• Not Safe for Work is an amateur detective novel based on my experiences covering the adult entertainment industry💋🍑🍆🕵️‍♂️

The ebook versions of my books are priced between 99 cents and $2.99, so if you don’t have the budget for a Situation Normal subscription, buying an ebook is a great way to support my work. Bonus: you’ll laugh your butt off!

But don’t take my word for it!

Amy - The Tonic

tried to tell everyone on Amazon to read Not Safe for Work, although that was easier said than done, right Amy?

Stick around and chat!

You know the drill. I’ve got questions, you’ve got answers.

1. Christina kept her name when we got married. I support this! But every once in a while we’re reminded that some people hold traditional narrow-minded views. What is their damn deal? Wrong answers only!

2. What’s your go-to order at a Chinese restaurant? Dish!

3. If a man eats four candy bars in one sitting, is he a legend, a harbinger, or a ticking time bomb? Go deep!

4. Why do Hell’s Angels / Sons of Anarchy fans make good bouncers but lousy tour guides? Get weird with this one.

5. How do you think the date went for the white wine fan and the mansplaining laymen? No wrong answers here.

Big thank you to our friend Jennie, who is a founding member of Situation Normal, for watching Mortimer while we were away.