the best backhanded compliment ever

It seems San Francisco is full of people who have completely lost touch with reality, and or some reason, these people tend to congregate at the Starbucks at 18th and Castro streets. After a nice corporate bowl of firecracker pasta at Fuzio on Castro, my friend Chris A. (not my boyfriend, that's Chris F.), we decided to stroll on over to that previously-mentioned Starbucks for a spot of coffee for him, chai tea with honey and milk for me. Sitting out front was an obviously-drunk man who pretty much looked as if he had just stepped out of the year 1974. He had long, staight hair, a pockmarked, stubbled face, and a tattered leather jacket. He was sitting there, chattering at nobody in particular, his language becoming coarser and coarser.

Eventually, a barista (Starbucks lingo for "person who works behind the counter"), a cute butch-y lesbian in her early twenties, came over and asked him to leave. This enraged this drunk hippie, and he started getting disrespectful and combative. I tried to ignore it as much as possible, immersing myself in my venti chai tea and my San Francisco Chronicle, but I was finally dragged into it when that dirty hippie kicked me in the leg and said, "I'm not bothering this guy!"

Well, you are now, fuckface.

"Hey man," I said. "You really need to leave."

"Fuck you!" he responded.

"No thanks," I replied.

"Fucking asshole!"

"I've been called worse by better people."

"Goddamn yuppie!" he screamed, his bloodshot eyes popping out of his head in rage.

Now, I was wearing a pair of ratty-looking jeans, sneakers, and a sleeveless PUTA t-shirt. Apparently, in this guy's world, I was a yuppie.

I guess that's what yuppies look like when you're a dirty, drunk hippie.

He stood up and looked like he was going to start a fight. I calmly put my paper down, stood up, and looked him right in the eyes. Turns out I was at least nine inches taller than him and probably 50 pounds heavier. He reconsidered fighting me, instead screaming, "You're nobody to me! You're just another goddamn 20 year-old!"

20 year-old? My god...after that, I wanted to buy the guy lunch.

"Hey man, if I look 20 to you, that's the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long, long time," I replied, to the laughter of a few dozen people who were sitting there enjoying the theater.

He turned towards the door, and angrily stalked out of the Starbucks; he was last seen stomping down 18th Street muttering obscenities under his breath. About 30 seconds after he left, this poor guy in a shirt and tie came in, absolutely drenched in coffee.

Turns out Mr. Drunk Hippie threw his coffee in the poor guy's face.

Sigh...that's San Francisco for you.



At 15:15, Blogger Sapientum said...

I was told, on my last visit to San Francisco, that the Starbucks to which you refer is known locally as "The Recovery Lounge". Seems not all the customers are post rehab after all!


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