Every time I collect another nugget of comic gold from my experiences living in San Francisco, I desperately want to record and publish them for posterity. I can’t be the only one having these experiences. There must be at least ten thousand people in this city every day going “What the fuck?”
I envision a forum like “Fail Blog” for this kind of thing. I would call it “Fuck San Francisco” or “FSF” for short. People could fill it with photos or FML-esque stories from the City by the Bay. For starters, I would just post pictures of the weather each day. “July 15th, 55 degrees Fahrenheit and foggy. July 16th, 55 degrees Fahrenheit and foggy. July 17th, 75 degrees and sunny just long enough to convince you to wear shorts, then 55 and foggy the rest of the day.”
Because starting a website sounds too hard, I will have to be satisfied with sharing my harrowing and humorous tales of SF life here.
So right now, the HOA of my building is having the planters in front of the building redone. One of these planters is on the other side of my bedroom wall. Step one of this process was of course to remove all the old plants. For some reason, step two was to also remove all of the dirt, leaving a 4 foot deep man-sized empty box outside my door.
Given that bums regularly sleep, eat and crap in our doorway as it is, I knew it would only be a matter of time before someone turned our empty planter into a comfortable home, complete with doilies and tiny cat figurines. While I have security cameras, they do not cover the planter as I have rarely been attacked by ferns, so for several days I entered and exited my apartment with extreme trepidation.
Then the HOA’s contractors proceeded to step three: paint the inside of the planter with tar. This step, while logical as it seals the planter to prevent leaks, requires several days to dry and also stinks to high heaven. But at least the planters no longer appeared to have open invitations hung on them saying “Hi creepy homeless people, sleep here!”
Or so I thought until I came home that evening to find a tweaked-out bum standing in the planter outside my door, huffing the tar fumes while eating a bag of gummy bears.
And that pretty much sums up life here in San Fran. FSF.