San Fiasco, California Pt. 2

It’s been a couple days since part 1. My friend James made it and he’s been giving me shit about paying too much attention to my silly gadgets and that I need to experience life right now. Stop obsessing over in the digital realm. Blah, blah, blah! He also lays out some statistics about multitasking gadget freaks being more depressed or something. Yeah, I read that damn article too! Seems about right, now that I think about it. Leaving my house without my iPhone is like a smoker on an international flight. You know, cold sweats and anxiousness. A lot of mumbling and swearing and itchy bugs crawling under the skin that I just can’t seem to catch! They’re burrowing into my fucking soul!!!!!!! James is more of the “It’s a wonderful world we live in, let’s enjoy it in person, not through a camera!”

20130422-171107.jpg He’s probably right.

So, anyway, Thursday night I’d just gotten lost, stumbled into a dark bar with a decent band playing, I drink more, and buy an album, and decide to leave. I consult my iPhone again. Some bitch still has no clue which way I’m pointed. I head off into the darkness of unknown streets. All is well. I see a small group of people crowding around something, about a half block ahead. There’s light coming from a nook on this dark street. Folks are shuffling about like zombies, their hands up to their faces, chewing. CHEWING! I come around the corner and there’s this fabulous little food truck…

20130422-172547.jpgThat’s Crepes-A-Go-Go, if you can’t read the sign. Holy shit! It smells incredible. I walk up, or more like stumble, trip, catch my fall, lean against the truck, and slur “gimme the best thing you got!”

20130422-173242.jpg

20130422-173333.jpg Hammered as I was, I still have the wherewithal to shoot a couple pictures. Hell, I’m functional enough to eat and selfie at the same time! Wasn’t completely aware that a good portion of my crepe was squeezing out the bottom, though. Found that out the next day when I awoke to this…

20130422-173807.jpg But, I digress. I finish my crepe and I remember it being the best fucking thing I’ve ever shoved into my mouth, without feeling shame afterwards, up to this point in my life. The crappy Apple Maps in walking mode, say to go down this “street”, which I do…

20130422-174225.jpgIt’s dark. It’s narrow. It looks wrong. And now that I think about it, it probably wasn’t even this street, but it looks close enough to what I experienced, and I have this photo on my phone, so we’ll pretend it’s the real deal. I stopped half way down the street to consult my maps app. I see a message from one of my FB friends telling me to throw out that damn Apple Maps and download Google Maps! So, at some point tonight between getting to the bar and leaving it and eating a crepe, I found time to bitch about my situation on Facebook. Good to know. I download Google Maps. All of a sudden a short Mexican guy in s tightly fitting suit shoots out of the scaffolding area. He looks like he’s about 22. He yells at me to say I can’t be here. To move along. I say “Who the fuck are you to tell me that?” Damn, gotta remember bourbon makes me confrontational. He says he’s “security”. I say, “Really? In that fancy suit? You look like you’ve been out clubbing” He says “Keep it moving, buddy.” I ask “Isn’t this a public street?” He says “Yeah, but there’s no loitering.” I hold my phone out and slur “I’m not loitering, I’m downloading fucking Google Maps so I can get out of this shitty neighborhood.” He walks away. I say “have a great night, you’ve been a great help!” He’s all “Yep, that’s right, keep it moving!”

Christ, that’s a lot of typing in quotes, my hands are getting tired. I walk off, staring at my silly phone when I practically knock over this white guy with an iPhone, a windbreaker, and rainbow colored knit beanie. I apologize to the guy. He looks up at me and says “I bet! You think you’re special. I see those hipster glasses you got on. You think you’re the man. Fucking gay mafia right there. You know it. Those glasses make you part of that club, man. I hate that shit.” I’m like, OK. I told him I wear these cuz I’m pretty much blind without em. He’s not buying my lies. He understands that we have this click and everyone else is nothing without those glasses. This shit seriously happened to me. I had this conversation. I walked off. He crossed the street and was continuing to accuse me of being a hipster gay mafia puppet master. Can SF get any stranger?

A couple blocks later I’m walking past this badass building. I think this is the civic center or town hall or some shit.

20130422-180116.jpg
Now this gay mafia guy is right behind me. He’s catching up to me. He’s apologizing to me about all that nonsense back there, but he’s not saying it isn’t true. He still thinks I’m part of the hipster secret society. It’s weird, because He doesn’t look that old and doesn’t look homeless and doesn’t seem to be out looking for money. I’m hammered and my sense of self preservation isn’t triggered until after about 10 minutes later when this skuzzy looking homeless guy in a flannel jacket runs up to us and gets in my face. He says he knows how to get me where I need to go. I’m fine I say. The conspiracy dude starts copping some attitude with the skuzzy. There’s a lot of chest bumping, bags thrown to the ground, and raised voices. I think I’m witnessing a bum fight. I start to think that I was some kind of mark and they were both gonna try to rob me or sell me a sob story, or whatever. I decided to high tail it out of the area before they noticed I was gone. I pull my phone out of my pocket, and like the bar of slippery soap that it is, it flies out of my hand in a perfect arc, landing 5 feet away on the sidewalk with a sickening crunch. I know that sound. Shattered the back screen of my iPhone. What a perfect cap to my evening. On the plus side, I made it back to my hotel unmolested and in one piece. James doesn’t know what he missed.

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About heartajack

I'm a graphic designer and occasional filmmaker that recently discovered the awesomeness that is the Can-Am Spyder Roadster. In recent years I've become obsessed with food and learning how to prepare it. I make the best damn ribs...EVER.
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2 Responses to San Fiasco, California Pt. 2

  1. Barbara says:

    Jack, how in the hell do you get in all this trouble? šŸ™‚ Great story!

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