Lots-O-Drugs

When I first moved into the neighborhood there were drug dealers, mostly a Mexican outfit from what I can tell, that worked the corner. I would watch them from the window. The lady would stand across the street as a lookout. There were a couple of dudes who would do the actual transactions. They knew me, they knew that I lived here. I felt safe, almost, with them around. They kept the homeless and weridos at bay. The Mexican drugs dealers haven’t been there since The Bambuddah Lounge at the Phoenix hotel opened. Closed now, it had attracted too many eyes to the area. They had to move on, or up; either way, they’re no longer here. Despite their move, we have lots-o-drugs in the Tenderloin.

I caught a cab coming home late from work one night. I was pretty tired and thought it was super funny when after I let the cabbie know where I was headed, he asked me if the reason for my visit to the Tenderloin is so I could procure drugs. I informed him I was headed there because that’s where I live. We started talking and he continued to tell me that pretty much the only reason people ask to be taken to the Tenderloin is to buy drugs. He said one night when he was driving some drunk dudes through the neighborhood, they wanted to stop and get cigarettes, so he drove them to the closest market and pulled over. A black man approached the cab and the occupants grew increasingly nervous, the cabbie started to explain that this man just wanted to sell them drugs, they immediately started yelling, “drive, drive, drive.” I laughed at the sight of this image. The only time I’ve seen this word being spoken in such rapid succession like that is in the movies.

There are a lot of drugs out in the open here. There are blatant drug deals in front of the police office on Eddy and Jones. People barely try and hide the fact that they are buying it, let alone doing it right on the streets in front of everyone. It’s almost an unspoken contract…if you walk through this neighborhood you’re accepting the fact that you may see some unpleasant things while you do so.

On my way to school a few years back I was headed to catch Muni at 7 in the morning, I made the wrong turn, walking down Hyde, the image I saw next is an ingrained-in-my-brain FOREVER kind of situation. A train wreck, something you know you shouldn’t look at, but you just can’t help it. A dude, sitting on the sidewalk, shooting up into his bruised and open wounded bloody arm. It was infected and vomit inducing. Requiem for a Dream kind of situation. I don’t go that way anymore.

Living in a neighborhood like this makes you contemplate doing drugs, or at least gives you a point of view that maybe selling drugs is a profitable, legitimate way, to make money. So many people are doing it, why not you? Recently, there have been two separate incidences where I’ve glimpsed “rocks,” as druggies lovingly refer to crack, on the ground still in plastic wrap. Wrapped in plastic so the drug dealers can keep the product in their mouth for safe keeping until the point of sale. As I walked by, I contemplated plucking it from the street and trying my hand at selling it for money. I keep walking on as sanity takes over, I know that I am the kind of person that would walk right up to an undercover cop and let him know, I’m in business!

So I decide that I won’t be picking up the “rock.” Unfortunately, I won’t be taking over the corner and trying my hand at dealing drugs anytime soon. I’d rather just walk around pretending that those bums indeed just met, as their handshake might imply.