Not long after our plane touched down in San Francisco, a colleague sitting in front of me twisted around and said, “Want to share a cab to the hotel?” We were staying at some fancy pants place on Nob Hill.

“No, dude, I’m taking the BART.”

“Oh. I don’t have the patience for that.” She waved a hand languidly.

“Thirty minutes into the city. Hard to get there much faster.”

“They say, you know, it’s a big hill from the station.”

“Could be.” I glanced down at her three-inch heels, and she sighed.

“Well you’re probably in better shape than me.”

Or something.

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