dear tourists: now that it’s july, throngs of you have invaded san francisco in polar fleece jackets, camera straps and khaki shorts. having been raised in a coastal new england community, i am decidedly patient with your cluelessly annoying quarks. but one daily event kills me a little bit inside, everytime. when riding the cable car, and the gripman shouts, “next stop, sacramento!” you need not giggle and repeat what he just said. we are not actually going to sacramento–merely sacramento street–and from what i’ve seen, he has no interest in humoring you.