stories, one short and one long

On my walk this morning, I saw a pair of glasses in the street. The frames looked okay, but the lenses had fallen out and were broken into many pieces. Odd, I thought. Then, just twenty feet later, I saw a spilled bottle of Axe Body Wash. So maybe the commercials are true? You put that shit on, and the crazy bitches come running.

Haven’t had time to blog about the trip to California, but I would like to share one story now. James and I were sitting in a little coffee/bakery place on Columbus Avenue that was right under our hotel. We were still a bit groggy, trying to shake the cobwebs from the previous night’s activities, when we heard, “YOU BETTER GIVE ME MY FUCKING MONEY.” We knew that wasn’t directed at us because A) we never get harassed for money when we travel, either because we look like we live there or we’re scary, and B) this bitch was really, really mad. Most panhandlers in San Francisco in my experience are either totally insane or trying to be clever (As in, propping a sign up against their dog that says “I need money for weed.” ha ha. Then get a job, stinky.)

We look up to see a middle aged woman in a green tennis dress jumping out of her Mercedes SLK. Then we see the guy, he’s named Gary, as we’re soon to find out, walking up the sidewalk wearing a backpack. Gary gets hip to the crazy in the green dress and tries to go back the other way. “Don’t you walk away from me, Gary. I want my fucking money.” That should have been in all caps because this bitch be CRAZY, yelling at the top of her lungs. Gary doesn’t say much, which infuriates crazy even more, so she continues. “I sent you a fucking email telling you that you better have my money. Where’s my fucking money, Gary? I’m going to tell Paolo, and he’s going to take care of your ass. You fucker.” Seriously – I’m not exaggerating how much this woman cussed during her tirade. And it was all unabashedly LOUD on a pretty populated street, albeit fairly early in the morning. This continues for a full minute or two, directly in front of us, her screaming and Gary just standing there retracting his balls.

She flips around to get back in her car, tennis skirt flying in the breeze, and sheepish Gary gets into the passenger side and sits. I thought she was seriously going to bust a vessel in her brain, she got so worked up. He’s trying to calmly tell her where the money is (or whatever, we couldn’t hear what he was saying), and she is having a FIT. She makes him get out of the car and then takes off like a rocket that runs on crazy bitch fuel.

Our analysis of the situation: Gary is her ex-husband. He cheated on her, so she hates his guts. He was late with the alimony payment, probably because he has a new girlfriend (or boyfriend), so she’s threatening him with the guy they used to buy their coke from.

Either that, or it was some bizarre form of street art. Whatever it was, we tried to keep from laughing and keep our heads down for fear she’d send Paolo after us, too.

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