Last night while waiting for the bus I was perusing this Web site sent to me by Winnie:
http://www.jamphat.com/rap/???/
And so I blame him for the events that occurred thereafter.
I waited and waited and waited and finally a bus came by and since I'd been waiting for an eternity I got on. And continued to visually examine mathematical interpretations of rap lyrics. And it's just the site was just really, really long and I kept on reading. And on the buses they shout out the stops right? So I'm reading and riding and then I hear, "Harrison." And I never hear Harrison on my way home... So I turn to the guy next to me, and I'm like, "Umm, am I on the 9 or something?"
And he laughed, and yes, and I was on the 9. But here's the thing: I totally take the 6, 7, or 71 - I don't take the 9. So I totally didn't know where I was at all. I was half freaking out and half giggling a lot b/c it was all of a sudden really funny that I had absolutely gotten on the wrong bus. Who even does that? So the guy is like, "where are you going?" And I tell him the Haight. And he tells me I'm somewhere totally not close at all like Portrero Hall or something. And heading farther. But we were by a Costco. I didn't even know there was a Costco in SF. So he's like "you should get off here and grab a cab." And I giggle again and I check my wallet and I'm like "Shit! I have like $5!" And I giggle.
And then he offered me $$. No shit. Totally. And I'm like, "I can't take your money!" And we go back and forth. And then, I took $5 from a total stranger b/c he did have a point, I did need to get home safe, and $5 just wasn't going to do it. And then I got off the bus. In the middle of nowhere. Where there were no cabs in sight. And I had no idea where I was.
I looked it up on my phone, but really all that did was prove that I was nowhere near my house and I couldn't find a form of transportation. So I just picked a direction and kept walking. And a while later I ran straight into a bus that was heading for Filmore. I got on and then took that for a while, and got out somewhere around the Castro eventually and then took a cab from there.
So that is how it came to be that I took the Bart, and then the 9, and then the something else, and then a cab - exactly 4 modes of transportation - to get home last night. Boy oh boy, I felt some kinda smart by the time I arrived at my house. Real, real smart.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Sunday, November 11, 2007
My Night at the SF General: An Essay
On Friday night, I went to dinner w/ little Greggy, and then we opted to see a late movie down at the AMC at the Westfield Mall. We departed the theater around 1:30am, and when we were about to cross over Market, I spotted the 71 heading for the stop. "Run! That's our bus!" So me and my Jimmy Choos started the run across 6 lanes of traffic, until about 5 lanes in, we fell. Left foot Choo stuck itself in a rail track, and I caught, and went down. Not a little, but a lot. It was a fantastical fall. Actually it was quite scary - contents of my bag went rolling out as I struggled to pick myself up w/ Greggy's help after every single point of my body had made contact w/ the asphalt. When I got up, and calmed down, Greggy asked me if I still had the blog. Yep. He noted that the fall would most def be making it onto the blog. He was correct, b/c, here it is.
On Sat morning I woke up with a very, very sore left foot. No swelling really, just a dark bruise on the outer left side of my foot. Dr. B, resident medical expert, advised that I should go get it checked out. So on Sat night, me and Stu accompanied EB into the hospital to have a look-see.
It's good to have dr. friends. I knew this from growing up in a dr. family - expedites everything. I met some docs who informed me to head to the front room to get registered, get a yellow wristband, and then to return to be taken up for x-ray.
EB told me that the simple fact that I have medical insurance would set me apart at the General, but it wasn't until I saw the waiting room that this really made sense. Many years ago, in Kentucky, in Cumberland on an annual summer boating trip, Dick gashed open his shin and we traveled to the local med clinic in Russel County where he eneded up sewing himself up. Greggy and I, ever the mature children, were forced out of the waiting room and back into the car b/c we couldn't behave ourselves; the country folk in the waiting room were too much, really. Bad, I know, but we were young.
Anyway, the waiting room there: no match for SF general. A doc came in at one point when I was being registered, asking who had wrist bands and was waiting to be called. The first guy she checked was dozing in the corner. Def drunk, maybe on other things...the nurse asked for his wrist band which he held up drowsily, she goes, "sir, that is not for this hospital. you need to leave now." And he stumbled out. He was one of three homeless guys in the waiting rooms mostly just there for someplace to go. Then a hooker came in with white netting pulled over her head, screaming profanities at the two officers restraining her. The clientele was rough around the edges at best...and I have no urge to hang out at the general again anytime soon.
As for me, I zipped right through registration, was told to skip the waiting room and head straight back to Zone 3, and then was sent right over for the x-ray, and within 1.5 hours of entering the SFG, I was sent out of the SFG. I did feel some guilt over this, considering I heard people in the waiting room muttering over how long they'd been waiting, but at the same time, I had these conflicting feelings, given that I was sober and gainfully employed and not just looking for a place to place my wasted rear. wow, this sounds mean, and I know, callus, and I do feel bad...but it's been a long weekend of no exercise and painful walking and that makes me grumpy :(
BTW, nothing wrong w/ my damn foot. I think I must've sprained it, but no broken bones...therefore I felt like a total whiny bitch for having had an x-ray. Oh well, I blame my in-house dr. who told me it'd be smart to go ahead and get it checked out. It's funny like that - you almost WANT there to be something wrong so you don't feel like a tool. Anyway, I just felt like a tool. Oh, I also got a little velcro-on shoe to wear. My roomates find it hysterical that I have to wear that thing for four or five days. You know, I guess it's not really my style.
Upon returning home, in the cold, dark, rainy SF night, we ordered in Indian and watched a movie. So, it was some kinda night. Hospital trip followed by take-out and a movie. CRAZY. Anyway, I have to be honest, many many of my LP entries are devoted to tales of debaucherous, fun-filled nights...but last night, was not one of those nights. Please think of my poor little left foot, if you please. She hurts!
On Sat morning I woke up with a very, very sore left foot. No swelling really, just a dark bruise on the outer left side of my foot. Dr. B, resident medical expert, advised that I should go get it checked out. So on Sat night, me and Stu accompanied EB into the hospital to have a look-see.
It's good to have dr. friends. I knew this from growing up in a dr. family - expedites everything. I met some docs who informed me to head to the front room to get registered, get a yellow wristband, and then to return to be taken up for x-ray.
EB told me that the simple fact that I have medical insurance would set me apart at the General, but it wasn't until I saw the waiting room that this really made sense. Many years ago, in Kentucky, in Cumberland on an annual summer boating trip, Dick gashed open his shin and we traveled to the local med clinic in Russel County where he eneded up sewing himself up. Greggy and I, ever the mature children, were forced out of the waiting room and back into the car b/c we couldn't behave ourselves; the country folk in the waiting room were too much, really. Bad, I know, but we were young.
Anyway, the waiting room there: no match for SF general. A doc came in at one point when I was being registered, asking who had wrist bands and was waiting to be called. The first guy she checked was dozing in the corner. Def drunk, maybe on other things...the nurse asked for his wrist band which he held up drowsily, she goes, "sir, that is not for this hospital. you need to leave now." And he stumbled out. He was one of three homeless guys in the waiting rooms mostly just there for someplace to go. Then a hooker came in with white netting pulled over her head, screaming profanities at the two officers restraining her. The clientele was rough around the edges at best...and I have no urge to hang out at the general again anytime soon.
As for me, I zipped right through registration, was told to skip the waiting room and head straight back to Zone 3, and then was sent right over for the x-ray, and within 1.5 hours of entering the SFG, I was sent out of the SFG. I did feel some guilt over this, considering I heard people in the waiting room muttering over how long they'd been waiting, but at the same time, I had these conflicting feelings, given that I was sober and gainfully employed and not just looking for a place to place my wasted rear. wow, this sounds mean, and I know, callus, and I do feel bad...but it's been a long weekend of no exercise and painful walking and that makes me grumpy :(
BTW, nothing wrong w/ my damn foot. I think I must've sprained it, but no broken bones...therefore I felt like a total whiny bitch for having had an x-ray. Oh well, I blame my in-house dr. who told me it'd be smart to go ahead and get it checked out. It's funny like that - you almost WANT there to be something wrong so you don't feel like a tool. Anyway, I just felt like a tool. Oh, I also got a little velcro-on shoe to wear. My roomates find it hysterical that I have to wear that thing for four or five days. You know, I guess it's not really my style.
Upon returning home, in the cold, dark, rainy SF night, we ordered in Indian and watched a movie. So, it was some kinda night. Hospital trip followed by take-out and a movie. CRAZY. Anyway, I have to be honest, many many of my LP entries are devoted to tales of debaucherous, fun-filled nights...but last night, was not one of those nights. Please think of my poor little left foot, if you please. She hurts!
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