2 posts tagged “san francisco”
So I'm on my way home from the gym, after work. Waiting patiently for the light, a white car speeds towards me, wrong-way down the street, and screeches around the corner I am about to cross.
Huh. Good thing I waited for the light, I think.
I am a chronic jaywalker.
The car crashes to a stop up on the curb around the corner. a guy jumps out and runs like a bat out of hell, back towards the intersection he just peeled through, past me, down the street.
2 SFPD cars come wailing around both corners, guns drawn, crawling all over the empty car, searching the alleys between the houses.
I am so helpful.
"Excuse me." I say quite canadian-ly to the nice man in the swat gear and the automatic rifle.
I fucking love america.
I walk towards him.
"Sorry, miss, you can't come into this block, there's a manhunt, guns are drawn."
I smile sweetly. "Well, the man hunt better move down the street, because the man who popped out of that car just ran by me in the opposite direction."
Blank stare.
"Thatta way." I point plaintively down the street, desperate for a sign of comprehension.
"Thank you, ma'am."
"You're quite welcome."
You know, sometimes, all you have to do is ask.
But I have a sneaking suspicion that I took all the fun out of their Tom Clancy play-date.
Addendum:
How do you tell a real cop from a leather daddy costume in San Francisco?
This is not a joke, this is a real-life problem. Every time I see a cop in this city, I have to supress my instinct to scream, "Hey girl!" and stuff a fiver in his pants.
The city was quiet today. Too quiet.
We always joke that San Francisco is the city that always sleeps, and it's actually no joke. This is not to say that nothing ever happens; on the contrary, we can't even keep up. There is an unspoken communal goodwill that manages to carry its own, even in the face of late-night, drunken activity. Parties rarely spill out onto the street. Bar fights happen in the afternoon out of consideration for the neighbours. Cars have learned to use their indoor voices. The whole city seems to suffer an asshole deficit.
We spent the afternoon in bookstores in the mission. It was lovely and quiet and we topped it off with an El Toro burrito. This vie-en-rose disney day was about to end. I went home and read an editorial piece in the Huffington Post.
According to the latest evangelical editorial blogs, Ted Haggard is a closeted, self-loathing meth addict because of his fat, lazy, sexually unavailable wife. Read Pastor Mark Driscoll's absurd advice for fellow religious leaders in peril.
I used to wonder when this 'new generation' of religious men would get their heads out of their asses and look for strength and leadership from their women, but Pastor Driscoll's mealy-mouthed and condescending response answers the question for me. Strong women make poor scapegoats.
Pastor Driscoll, suck my big metaphorical d**k. You wrecked my Saturday.
