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I don't think I've ever made much of a secret of the fact that I hate San
Francisco. Try as you may to convince me that there is anything here worth all
the trouble, you're going to be wasting your breath. I've spent 5 years working
downtown, being exposed to all the really good reasons why you should stay the
hell away from this community, and today added yet another.
I ran afoul of the local fauna. Some asshole decided it would be fun to body-
check me in the Middle of Market Street. I saw him coming, looking right at me,
and suddenly he swerved and slammed into me. When I didn't go down, he tried
next to take my legs out from under me.
The whole experience is totally surreal: Of all the things I could have guessed
would have happened next, I didn't expect to have a handful of plastic Ketchup
containers hurled at me. Each did a Jackson Pollock across various bits of my
clothes, face, and hair, leaving me completely stunned.
I found myself wondering afterward why I didn't take him apart. I certainly
could have, but it really took me a while to absorb the fact that I'd just been
the victim of a random act of processed tomatoes. I'm still trying to figure
out how it went from getting jumped... to modern art.
Anyway, police showed up, saw my pocket tool and went straight after me. It
took a minute for them to accept that I was the one who had called them. Not
that I blame them - it's a prudent measure on their part but it was fun,
nonetheless, to find that even once the whole thing was over, It wasn't really
over. I got to do the whole nine yards with the officers while two of them
stood back with their weapon hands at the ready.
Between work, health, scheduling issues, and this - I'm convinced that this week
is trying to kill me.
-rbarry
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