Walking up Market Street at 11:15 PM on a Tuesday is always a trip. The homeless aren't yet passed out for the evening. They generally are attempting to get whatever they can from the few brave souls to will walk that stretch of street at night.
I had just finished watching the movie "Hostel", a movie all about boobies and gratuitous gore but not at the same time-because that would be an NC-17 film and not an R rated one. The movie was very stupid but made tolerable by the company I was keeping.
There was only one scene in the film that I almost lost my cookies watching. I actually broke out in a cold sweat and had to close my eyes for a second and get my bearings. It was a scene I needed to share with my sister, so I dialed her up.
As I went into detail of what I found troubling, an act that both my sister and I fear, a homeless man eating the last quarter of a burrito approached me.
Before he even opened his mouth I said, "No."
He responded "Two thousand."
"No" I said again.
My sister began laughing.
"Fifteen hundred" he countered.
"No."
"You can't boss people around." He took a gummy bite of his burrito and smacked out "people have rights."
He followed me to the corner of Market at 7th Street.
"Yep" I said.
"So we've reached an agreement. Goodnight." He turned and walked away.
"What the fuck" I said to my sister on the phone. "The people around here are fucked in the head."
I went on to talk more about my evening as I trudged up Market. One of the reasons I was on the phone was to keep the homeless at bay. Through empirical evidence I've collected the more often I'm on my cell phone the more often panhandlers do not ask me for change. I'm not sure it it's just out of respect for me being on the phone or if they know my attention is invested somewhere else.
But this alienation device doesn't work all the time. And it certainly wasn't working on Tuesday night. A woman stopped me at the Civic Center MUNI/BART station at 8th Street.
"I'm not asking for money" she began. This always denotes the start of a long story in which the teller will reveal the motive of actually wanting money after having tried to wear down the listener. I've lived in the City for over four years I'm keen to this tactic.
"My husband got arrested and is in jail. The police won't help me. I need to get back to El Cerrito and I just want people's BART tickets. I've only got seventy cents."
"Sorry- I don't have a BART pass" I said.
"Then do you have any change?"
A-ha! Why not just ask for the money straight up. See the hardship story tellers don't get any respect because they waste time. This is the number one way not to get any of my coin.
"Sorry, I don't carry cash" I say turning away and walking on.
By now I was jonesin' for a donut. So I cut down 9th Street and wrapped up my call with my sis. I ordered a French cruller, the counter person put it in a white bag. I stepped out of the donut shop and who should happen to be standing outside? BART pass lady. She followed me two blocks.
"Thought you didn't carry cash," she said in a hostel tone shakin' her head like a dashboard ornament.
"Thought you weren't asking for money" I laughed back shaking my head like a black woman.
"I need to get home."
"Sorry. But I'm not going to help you. And following me two blocks- that's just dumb."
"Just give me some change!" she demanded.
"Go turn some tricks for quarters" I spat. "Do something you're used to."
I crossed the street. She did not follow. I was annoyed. I began wishing that "Hostel" was set in San Francisco- only instead of preying upon tourists they captured beggars and rift raft. Now that would have been a movie I would have enjoyed.
