They happen. I’ve been through a couple earthquakes in Santa Cruz. One woke me up from sleeping and the other was in a bar (surprise!) and the bottles chattered about a bit. The biggest one I’ve felt so far was here in San Francisco. And yes, we all know, the Big One is coming (thanks, fear-mongering media!)
What I love about San Francisco people is that, get this, we don’t care! We are a brave people, or perhaps an ignorant people. Either way, real estate is more expensive here than where you are, I guarantee it, and you don’t have tectonic plates acting all shifty.
I think, more than anything else, the San Franciscan’s attitude is: “Yeah, you could die in a big earthquake while you’re traveling over the picaresque Golden Gate Bridge. Or, you could get hit head-on by MUNI tomorrow. Meh.”
We go when we go.
That said, earthquakes are the number two reason I refuse to live in the Marina (it’s landfill from the last earthquake and not particularly solid). Reason number one? Marina Girls. Also a kind of landfill and not particularly solid.