It was a pleasant day at Union Square, sunny with a light breeze. I am a spoiled Californian. I may not insist on decent weather when I do my bit against injustice, but I unconsciously expect it to be the default setting. Though I did not know it when I arrived, there was going to be a march this time. This was a different than the previous two protests I attended.

The first, a gathering outside the Tesla dealership on Van Ness, was a gathering to call Elon Musk a dick. People lined the sidewalk on both sides of the street, waving signs and banging drums. Appreciative passing motorists honked their horns and got cheers from the crowd. Those who drove by in a Tesla got an upraised middle finger, but that was the extent of it. The dealership itself suffered no physical damage either. I am not sure if this was due to police presence or if people refrained from acting like idiots all on their own.

The demonstration held a week later at Civic Center had a much larger attendance. There were a number of people making speeches up front near the steps of City Hall. The acoustics were bad, so I had no idea what they were saying. There was applause from those closer in. It was a big crowd, not as big as the 100k attendees in Washington DC the same day, but big nonetheless.

That was a week before the protest at Union Square. This had a smaller crowd because there were other demonstrations scheduled that day. I picked it because its name “The Trump Fascist Regime Must Go NOW!” sounded angry enough to sit well with my near constant state of impotent rage.

So yeah, I was (and still am) plenty pissed off. The problem is that I am ill-suited to be an activist. I never make a sign and if I did, I would probably strive for maximum vulgarity with something like “Trump Gets Cleveland Steamers from Ivanka!” I don’t even join in with what’s being chanted. I just show up and hope my contribution to crowd size will be enough.

There were several speakers with one who sounded like AOC but wasn’t. It would not have been that surprising if she did show up. She and Bernie have been hitting the protest circuit pretty hard. Alas, there was no progressive star power though the message of those who did speak was very much the same.

After an hour or so, the march began. I shuffled along and took my place toward the rear of the procession. I figured the head of the pack should have the firebrands and the truly dedicated. Sluglike Eeyores such as myself should not be the ones leading the charge.

We headed up Sacramento Street and through the tunnel that took us to Chinatown. Either the permit or and understanding with the cops stipulated that we stay on one side of the street. Traffic going the other way honked in support, or at the very least did not swerve into us as fellow protestors waved their signs and joined in cadenced rebukes of our current president.

None of the chants were particularly clever, nor did they have to be. Simplicity and repeatability were key. Tongue twisters were to be avoided.

All the while, I wondered if I was too old for this. By chronological age, I wasn’t. I saw a lot of people who had at least a decade on me. Of course, they looked like the type of people who hike up Mount Tam for fun, not sedentary fat asses whose idea of an active lifestyle is watching horror movies and drinking bourbon. Needless to say, my feet hurt.

I had no idea what our destination was. For the briefest of moments, I considered the possibility of us heading to ICE headquarters where we would commence throwing bricks. Of course, that notion was absurd. We were responsible citizens demonstrating peacefully, not a bunch of sports fans whose local team had either won or lost a really big game.

We continued through Chinatown then North Beach on our way to Fisherman’s Wharf. On our current course, it was not that long before we either had to stop or plunge like lemmings into the bay. Either was fine by me as long as we stopped walking. Neither my worn-down Converse nor my cankles were designed for this kind of trudge.

The leaders of the march had no intention of stopping. They turned right on Embarcadero and headed down that long arc toward the Ferry Building.

At that point, I quit. Hundreds of people of sterner stuff than me pressed on. As I made my way to a streetcar stop, I told myself that I added to the head count for a little while and that had to count for something.