Living in the Haight has to be one of the most interesting experiences I will ever come into contact with.
Wednesday morning, I awoke to the sound of my two neighbors fighting. Bruce and Reggie are roommates on the third floor of my building (which is a diversely-built old victorian home). They are constantly arguing with each other.
Supposedly, Reggie is a crack dealer -though I've never seen him deal anything. Reggie is also a deformed child from the 60s -a product of when doctors prescribed medication that they thought was beneficial for the mothers during child birth but resulted in childern that had defects. His left arm looks like it belongs to a thirteen year old and the left side of his face is permently paralized.
Bruce is a former hotel worker whose been out of work for over two years. He's an alcoholic that hides it terribly. Middle-aged and not knowing what to do with his life, he resorts to drinking so he can cope with the realities of his unwinding life.
After I got out of the shower and started to get dressed, I looked out my window and saw them fist-fighting in the street. But the sad thing was, that it was completely anecdotal. Reggie was running in circles around Bruce, ducking and dodging all of Bruce's delayed sways; Bruce huffing and puffing in complete frustration.
As I walked out the door to go to school, Bruce was at the bottom of the stoop, waiting impatiently for Reggie. The second I opened the door, Bruce swung around expecting Reggie to be taunting him again at the top of the stairs. When he saw me, and I asked him how he was doing, he patted me on the back and told me "I thought you were the guy I was going to kill."
That's just one moment of living in the Haight.
Just a little something that happened last night.
Put on a new pair of pants I bought last night around 10pm because my friends wanted to see me in them (there is a story behing that that I just might get into later). After I put on my pants, I felt this kind of stinging in my leg. Looking for the reason, I pulled up my pants and a BEE fell out onto the floor. How strange. No idea how it got there (obviously the bee flew in there at some point and had no idea of getting out) but it stung me and died sadly on the floor.
If he would have asked, I would have let him out without him having to commit suicide.
Does anyone know why bees die when their stinger comes out? Why did this happen evolutionary? Anyone know?
Been without the internet for the summer since I moved into my new place. As of yesterday, I now have the internet again and will be able to write new things on this little site of mine. No one ever reads this, but I'm going to update it again.
So here is the update:
I now live in the Haight-Ashbury district of the city. I always thought that this part of town was pretty crappy, and now that I live here, I know this place is pretty intersting. The homeless in this area still think it is the 60s-where they pretty much lived for free back then and expect you to pick up their expenses today. It gets really anoying when you walk out of a restaurant with some take-out and the street punks ask you for the food you just bought. Unh.
Yes, I have been working at Urban Outfitters here in the city near Union Square. I've sold clothes, greeted at the door and caught people trying to steal. Crazy stuff.
And lastly, I'm still taking summer school and finished my first class. Anyway I'm taking a California history class which has turned out to be a real easy class. Almost as if it were a waste of time.