Wednesday, September 08, 2004

Vehicular Manslaughter and the Problem with Lunchtime in San Francisco

Sometimes when I'm driving by myself I have to resist the urge to run over pedestrians in the crosswalk. I'll see them 60, 80, 100 yards down the road, but they won't see me...generally oblivious to my right foot getting heavier and heavier as I approach. They walk blissfully unaware, snug in the oh-so-false sense of security provided by the solid white lines painted on the road. These smug little street-walking bitches amble to and fro like they're starting quarterbacks and I'm some second-team linebacker in a 9-on-7 non-contact drill. Well guess what buddy, my Explorer isn't a second string linebacker, this ain't no fucking non-con drill, and if one of us is going to get cut, it's gonna be you. Fucker.

I can't say for certain from whence this urge comes. I can only say that it does, in fact, come. Maybe it's spending the last 8 years weaving through the dirt-surfers and street merchants that constitute Berkeley city traffic. Maybe it's the 4-foot Qin TerraCotta warrior look-alikes in Chinatown with complete disregard for traffic lights and stop signs who creep unfathomably slow into the intersection as I'M BARRELING DOWN A HILL IN A CAR WITH LESS THAN QUALITY BRAKES AND AN 800 lbs PAYLOAD OF DRUNKEN FRIENDS IN THE BACK!!!! Or maybe, it's just that I hate bipedal locomotion.

I had a roast beef sandwich for lunch today. It was lovingly prepared by a sweaty, 30 yr old Afghan who used the sliding glass of the display case to wipe off his mayonnaise-covered hands. When he turned his back to me while slicing off a disturbing amount of swiss cheese from the block he had just removed from its resting place amidst a small pool of roast beef blood on the top shelf of the display case, I noticed that the sweat had completely soaked through the back of his white t-shirt--making it translucent enough to see the thicket of back hair that would insulate him for the coming winter months like a free-range bison.

As he stood there lopping off a kilo of slices, I noticed that he kept tugging at his shirt collar and rubbing his neck. I could tell he was cursing to himself in Pashto because the number of phlegm-producing words increased the point where I left wondering how much of that was really mayonnaise. It dawned on me though, why this guy was always so pissed off.

When he was tugging at his shirt collar I saw the glimmer of a gold rope chain around his neck. He wasn't tugging at his collar after all. He was tugging at the back hair that was repeatedly getting caught in the chain. Mmmm mmmm mmmm, lunchtime! I'd be pissed all the time too if my PELT kept getting torn from by my flea market jewelry. So I left.

As I walked up Drumm St back to my office, my lunchtime train of thought was disrupted by a woman up ahead scream out "OH DEAR GOD!" I looked up with a start hoping a panhandling "disabled veteran" had tipped over in his wheelchair or something, when out of the corner of my eye I saw something much much better.

There, across the street, next to the planters on the north side of the Embarcadero Hyatt was a filthy stumbling homeless man. He was leaning precariously against one of the benches and one of the large planters and was mumbling incoherently to himself. Once he got his feet under him, he untied the rope keeping his pants up, dropped his pants around his ankles, semi-squatted, and started shitting all over the ground. Now I'm not sure if shit always looks more voluminous and viscous when it is streaming from the ass of a homeless man in the middle of a financial district, but based purely on puddle-size and elapsed time it looked like this man was in the final stages of bleeding out from the Ebola virus.

I couldn't take my eyes off this guy and neither could a handful of other people. I may have been the only one with a huge grin on my face, but I was certainly not the only one who was astonished by the sheer quantity of human fecal waste that had pooled around this homeless man's feet like the liquid Terminator after they blew him up in the steel smelting factory. He stood there for a few beats after the last drops had drained from his anus as if to catch his breath or shake out the cobwebs. When he was satisfied that he had his wits about him again, he decided against wiping or rubbing his ass along the ground like a Springer Spaniel. He simply pulled up his pants, tied off the rope belt, and stumbled on his way.

Everyone around was speechless. Part of me wanted to applaud this brazen-yet-virtuoso rectal symphony. Instead, I did the only thing I really could do and I threw away my sandwich.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Eating lunch while reading this post... not good.

September 8, 2004 at 7:28 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

How the hell can you even squeeze into an Explorer? You're nothing short of a giant. I could see you in an Exposition, or an Excessive. But not an Explorer.

September 8, 2004 at 8:47 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Flesh gives way to metal. Always.

This is my first time commenting but I have been reading your work for several years now. Never stop writing man, if only because after a shitty day at work I can come home and laugh out loud at your way of putting things.

September 8, 2004 at 9:23 PM  
Blogger Malt said...

A few years?

September 9, 2004 at 3:39 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Poop is always funny.


September 9, 2004 at 8:47 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I wonder what your comments would be if you saw the scores of folks who shit along the railway tracks in India. On one blissful morning, riding the train into Calcutta, I opened the window shutter to see men and women, lined up next to each other, taking dumps and doing their business with their slums in the background. Atleast all had a little pitcher of water to wash themselves.

September 9, 2004 at 10:01 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...


Nils posts regularly somewhere else.


September 9, 2004 at 2:09 PM  
Blogger LC Greenwood said...

Jesus GOD man. Where do you LIVE???? And how is it that you see the things you see?


September 9, 2004 at 2:17 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hey Dumb Ass...This is San Francisco!!!
We put the homeless people down town to "fuck with your head" & because "you are better than them" remember?
No one like s to see human walking pieces of shit & their shit as well,me neither,but that's the way it is nowadays.
As far as wanting to run people over,yeah,I feel yah,but I also walk around my SF neighboorhood alot & I hate cocksuckers like you who think like that...I wait for you assholes & your fake monster trucks (I own a full size Bronco & it's lifted,bitch)whenever I am walking because you pin-dick fools are too busy drinking coffee,smoking,taking notes,& talking on your phones and then you worry about driving...

September 9, 2004 at 2:28 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

It sounds like he took a dump in the exact square yard where that guy painted the ground red last Christmas Eve from the top of the Hyatt.

September 9, 2004 at 2:54 PM  
Blogger anthony pedersen said...

So you're that fucker in the Explorer! i hope the M&Ms i hucked cracked your windshield... turdwatcher.

September 9, 2004 at 8:55 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

"Idiotic ramblings from the poster with the *lifted* bronco"

Awesome, simply fucking awesome.

September 9, 2004 at 11:50 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

You know how...(hump) (hump)
so not gay cuz yew loywywer man ulp yum yeah

September 12, 2004 at 1:24 PM  
Blogger shittyholecards said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

September 13, 2004 at 8:09 PM  
Blogger FXGUY said...

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October 13, 2005 at 10:24 PM  

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