Run-Ins

While out and about in my neighborhood, with my friend Alejandra, we ran into a bunch of people I know, and then we were almost run over twice, later on.

I was a little stressed today, so when my friend Alejandra called me up to get a bite to eat I was all in. We were walking around, talking, deciding where we wanted to grab a snack. I ran into Matt, who stopped and talked for a bit. Then I saw Julio up the street. Pretty much all the people I know, I've worked with at one point or another. We stopped at Quetzal, tea for me, and coffee for her, and crumpets, okay not crumpets, it was actually red velvet cake. It was a bit dry. But I enjoyed my huge cup of chai tea.

Brandon and Karan walked by, and they came in to chat and grab a bite to eat also.

After a few hours of good conversation and company, Alejandra and I headed home. We rounded the corner from Polk onto Geary, heading toward Larkin. Walking past Edinburgh there was a guy in a wheelchair, with one leg, drooling down his chin (I say drooling, Alejandra says sweaty) who I just knew would be trouble. We had to separate to get around him. A few more steps and we hear a noise... he’s coming after us, faster and faster (creepy being chased down by a homeless drooling dude in a wheelchair, but does he really think that he‘s scary?, it‘s a Chuckie situation, he may look frightening, but you could probably take him) …as I stop to turn around and confront him, I backed into the trash can as he skids to a halt. We dash across the street laughing hysterically. My other friend, Elise said she might be at Whiskey Thieves, so we stop by, she wasn’t. As we left, there was a dude driving furiously out of a parking garage, we were almost run over again!

I’m sorry I stepped over you when you were getting mugged…

I couldn’t process what I was witnessing. You were squirming around on the ground underneath someone. Someone who I thought was a cop at first, who was arresting you. Because, why else would someone be on top of you, holding you down…holding your mouth shut…while people stood around and watched…people dressed all in black, with creepy white masks on. Okay, okay, obviously something’s wrong here.

Now I’m slowing down and craning my neck to see what’s going to happen. Should I call the police? I should have called the police right then and there. My friend Abby says that she read a book which theorizes that our brain’s have problems processing situations we haven’t been in before. That our reaction time is slower when our brain doesn’t have a similar situation to compare what happened and what we did in the past. This is what happened to me when I saw this guy getting mugged. I’ve never seen this before and I could feel the inactivity of my brain, trying sluggishly to figure out what I was seeing and what I should do about it. I know it sounds cliché, but everything was in slow-mo. I still feel bad about it.

On a Sunny Day in January

I started calling him my bum. Instead of putting on the television I'd turn my back on it, and stare out my window.

I started calling him "my bum," like, 'what's my bum doing today?' He would read his book and sit in the sun on the sidewalk; he hung around for a few days...

Alcohol is an integral part of a bum's life. It serves to sedate them into unconsciousness, it's an all encompassing medication for pain, while also keeping them warm at night; because even though, we have fairly mild weather in San Francisco compared to the rest of the country, which contributes to the reason why we have such a large homeless population, it can get really cold during the nights.



But when 'my bum' was offered a swig from the bottle he refused and grabbed his backpack and took off for a bit. But he came back after a bit.

Side note: I wrote, bums, sunny day, alcohol, reading, for the tags of this post, and I thought, this might be something they'd write for a really f---ed up Sesame Street. This isn't Sesame Street baby, this is Larkin and Eddy!

Bay Windows

We were lucky, the boyfriend and I, to get the apartment with the bay windows. I like to watch the Tenderloin happenings from the safety and comfort of my second-story window. I’ve witnessed a tranny-prostitute being solicited by a man in a car at three in the morning, drunken bums stumbling around and peeing all over themselves, and one of my favorites…couples yelling and screaming obscenities at each other. Unfortunately, most of the time, this last one will occur directly beneath my window, and it saddens me when I can’t see what is actually going on. Half of me wants to throw water on them so they’ll go away, (but I worry that since they‘re bums, or at least, crazy, they have nothing better to do than harass me if I piss them off, so best to not say or do anything). The other half of me, the nosey half, wants them to move across the street so I can see which one of them I want to root for.

One night I couldn‘t sleep so I made myself a cup of tea and snuggled into a blanket, settling into my usual position on the couch watching the street from my window. I never know what I’m in store for. I watch. This particular night, I see immediately what will be keeping me entertained for the night. There’s a black man in a baseball hat across the street trying to get into a car. Interesting goings on. So, I watch. He has something in his hands that is long and he is obviously trying to get into the car by using this thing. I’m not totally sure what he’s using, but it looks not only interesting, but scandalous. We are in the Tenderloin after all, so an important question pops in to my head, is this his car, or is he trying to break into it?

I want a second opinion, so I ask my boyfriend what he thinks is happening. I explain the situation and the things I’ve been watching this guy do. My theories are this… since he’s on the passenger side of the car, this could mean that if he is trying to break into the car then he might have an easier time doing this without people bothering him as they walk by. It could also mean that he has had practice with this, and he has found it easier to break into cars on that side instead of on the drivers side. I’m not sure how long he’s been at this, but he keeps working on it while we sit and watch. I’m wishing that I had popcorn, mental note: buy popcorn! He hasn’t busted open the window, which maybe means that it is his car and he doesn’t want to break his own window. I ask my boyfriend if we should call the cops and then they can ask him what’s going on, because I would feel really bad just sitting here watching this whole thing unfold if he ends up getting in there and robs the car. My boyfriend says, “But he’s black, and I would feel really bad calling the cops on this guy if it is his car.” So here’s our dilemma, to call the cops, or to not call the cops. It’s a question I’ve had to contemplate more times than I’d like to admit while living in the Tenderloin. We sit and watch.

He’s been working on it for some time now. He moves back to the other side of the car and tries that for a little while. People walk by him, and I think good, a good Samaritan will inquire about his actions. They look very briefly in his direction, but their eyes don’t linger for long. Silly me, we’re in the Tenderloin, no one walking by a black man trying to jimmy open a car at this time of night is going to stop and have a chat with him to inquire about his intentions with this car. Maybe it’s his car, they’ll tell themselves.

Eventually he gets the car door open. Omigod! Now’s the moment I’ve been waiting for. He returns the thing that I thought was some kind of coat hanger to the back of the car. Looks like it was the antenna, because he screws it back onto the car. He casually gathers his jacket off the back of the car and throws it in to the passengers seat. I’m thinking, now we’ll know whether this is his car or not. He’s either going to pull out the spare key and be on his way, or he’s going to rummage around and get out, leaving the car. He turns on the dome light. He does stuff, I don’t exactly know what, I can’t exactly see. I strain to see what’s going on. It’s killing me that I can’t see what’s happening. He’s moving around. Maybe five minutes pass by, and then he’s got the car running. Did he hot wire it? Did he have a spare key? I’ll never know because a minute later he’s cruising down the road.

I think about him even now, wondering if I did the right thing by not getting involved. I tell myself, it probably was his car.

HipsterBikeRack

They get rid of my tree (side note: There’s a cheetos wrapper offending on the graveyard of the spot to have formerly been the resting home of my tree (see previous post, My Tree)), and yesterday, there’s this hipster bike rack out front. And today, they spray painted a little white bike symbol underneath just in case people in the Tenderloin aren’t sure about what this thing is supposed to be used for. You put something like this up in the Mission and you would have had 20 bikes attached to it yesterday. In the Tenderloin, we need a little time to adjust to this type of gentrification. I knew it was coming, just not like this, in the form of hipsters. They come here to eat the Saigon Sandwiches (see previous post, Tummy Love part 1) but it’s a passing fancy, they’re in and out. They never linger. This bike rack indicates lingering.




Annnnnd, speaking of Saigon Sandwich...it'll be closed March 1st-March 31st for remodeling. Can't wait to see it!