Downtown SF Journey on a Saturday Night; Sunday Morning Coffee Schmooze

I HAD BUSINESS TO ATTEND TO ...THE SCENE:

 Saturday Evening: 5ish

Downtown SF near Washington Street and Broadway.

Hot, hot, hot.

SF is not a city conditioned without air conditioning therefore when it gets cooked, and it was COOKED Saturday night, everyone is skittish.

Including me.

Traffic was a nightmare near the Bay Bridge headed back to Oakland so I figured it would be both wise and adventuresome to park the car and get out and walk toward Fremont St. and Downtown; it wasn't that far and by the time I'd get a quick bite to eat, the traffic would ease and I could ease on back home.

The area around the still-closed traffic center was flooded with people. It didn't look like tourists more pissed-off locals who looked confused and stranded. I figured they had no clue the transit center was closed. Maybe they don't have TVs and or don't read news on the Internet. 

I moved on.

The Financial District was darn near empty; figures on a Saturday Summer evening at 6; except there was a line outside the door in front of Tadich and while I love Tadich I wouldn't stand in any line even for the second coming. I've always tried to figure out the mentality of people who willfully stand in line--ANY line. Much less a line in stifling heat --it's not being snooty it's called common sense. I'm not in any way impatient I just can't comprehend the idea of being like herd mentality. It goes against my religion.

I walked down California over to Market where the serene sweet odor of urine permeated the scene; (welcome to Downtown SF) Herb Caen would have had a field day writing about the mess and it was messy. The tourists were their usual goofball look and amidst the scene of hobos, misbegotten folks, downright scary guys with blotted faces and missing teeth and panhandling loots just off the BART train, it was surreal to say the least.

I headed into the Hyatt and sat down near the back elevator --brought back memories of the scene of my prom --Skyline, 1980, I managed to go to my rain man ways and delve deeply into that night way back when. I don't know why I suddenly got nostalgic but maybe it was the air conditioning that revved up my juices.

I was maddeningly THIRSTY. I walked over to the bar and was wiling to get screwed for a 3 dollar glass of diet coke but $4.50? Are you kidding me? NO they weren't so I walked outside and hit the liquor store nearby and felt damn proud of myself slurping down two cans of buck-fifty Coca-Cola and I felt thirst-quenched and redeemed.

It was approaching 7: 30 and me being in suit and tie, I was 4x schiftzing--a Yiddish term meaning heat-drenched. It's not the worst thing but it's not the best either. In actuality, I was spent. I felt sort of mild humiliation because I kept asking myself: "What the hell were you thinking?" If it was around 59 and foggy, I would not have felt so foolish but damned me, it was 70's and el-stupendo engulfed me.

I finally reached pay dirt! The car. No ticket. No broken window either, BONUS POINTS! And a Black Honda Civic sedan near the outskirts of the Bay Bridge is easy pickings. I escaped the savages.

Back to Oakland.