It's a Small, Small World After All
Here's a funny story for ya!
So I used to live at a charming little apartment in Lower Haight known as "The Crack Den" to, well, everyone. Calling it a crack den was a misnomer, of course, because, as far as I know, crack was one of the few drugs not done there. The roommates at the crack den were a very interesting bunch:
Carlos - The daddy of our dysfunctional family, Carlos lived with his wealthy sugar daddy (sugar baby? dude was, like, a decade younger than Carlos) in Hawaii 9 months of the year. He would fly to SF for pride and other dragstravaganzas, but mainly was totally unreachable. His greatest contribution to the household was his cat that lived there. She was a little bitch. And I hated his friends who came to feed her too. But Carlos had cancer so he was good for pot cookies. I liked that a lot.
Francisco - Francisco and I were at one end of the house and the other bedrooms were at the other end. So Francisco and I bonded a lot over a shared hatred of the living quarters. Francisco worked at Eros in the Castro as a gay sex worker. Yup, you read that right, he was a gay sex worker. Let me tell you, I never asked him how work went. Francisco was nice in a "gay boy from a small town just moved to the city" sort of way.
Revolving door - Very small room which was super shitty and we overcharged for it. I don't think anyone stayed more than a month or two here. There was a creepy art student I remember and a nice girl. God this room sucked.
Eric - Oh, Eric. Eric was the reason we called it the crack den. Which was grossly unfair as Eric was a speed freak. Eric was a classic speed freak. Didn't shower. Didn't sleep. Didn't pay rent. Had shady ass people (usually 10-15) over all the time. Stole. Lied. Violent. Crazy. We hated Eric, but couldn't get him to leave. Literally. I got to know so many guys at the Northern Precinct station because of Eric. I'm still afraid of Eric. Every once in a while I think I see him and I start to have a panic attack as I flee the scene. Oh, Eric...
So I finally moved out of the crack den after a certain event with one of Eric's charming friends, Micah. Micha had a little crush on yours truly. Despite trying to woo me with such lines as "you know I've done time, right?" I never warmed to him. One night someone pounded on my (deadbolted) bedroom door at, like, 3 in the morning. They didn't stop so I finally got out of bed to check it out. There was Micha, totally strung out, holding a butcher's knife. He started walking towards me and I started to panic, thinking "wow, so this is how I die." Rather than slice me from gullet to gills as I expected, he gently handed the knife to me and told me to think of him every time I use it. I grabbed the knife, shoved Micah out of my room and re-deadbolted the door. Then I called Momma to tell her I was moving. Immediately. Cost be damned. Momma agreed.
So what's the point of this story? I'm interviewing some dude tomorrow that lives at...The Crack Den! What are the fucking odds of that? And he lists embroidery as one of his special skills. Let me tell you, I am soooooo looking forward to this interview!
Micah, by the way, later went on to date Magda, everybody's favorite strung out USF speed freak. It really is a fucking small world.
So I used to live at a charming little apartment in Lower Haight known as "The Crack Den" to, well, everyone. Calling it a crack den was a misnomer, of course, because, as far as I know, crack was one of the few drugs not done there. The roommates at the crack den were a very interesting bunch:
Carlos - The daddy of our dysfunctional family, Carlos lived with his wealthy sugar daddy (sugar baby? dude was, like, a decade younger than Carlos) in Hawaii 9 months of the year. He would fly to SF for pride and other dragstravaganzas, but mainly was totally unreachable. His greatest contribution to the household was his cat that lived there. She was a little bitch. And I hated his friends who came to feed her too. But Carlos had cancer so he was good for pot cookies. I liked that a lot.
Francisco - Francisco and I were at one end of the house and the other bedrooms were at the other end. So Francisco and I bonded a lot over a shared hatred of the living quarters. Francisco worked at Eros in the Castro as a gay sex worker. Yup, you read that right, he was a gay sex worker. Let me tell you, I never asked him how work went. Francisco was nice in a "gay boy from a small town just moved to the city" sort of way.
Revolving door - Very small room which was super shitty and we overcharged for it. I don't think anyone stayed more than a month or two here. There was a creepy art student I remember and a nice girl. God this room sucked.
Eric - Oh, Eric. Eric was the reason we called it the crack den. Which was grossly unfair as Eric was a speed freak. Eric was a classic speed freak. Didn't shower. Didn't sleep. Didn't pay rent. Had shady ass people (usually 10-15) over all the time. Stole. Lied. Violent. Crazy. We hated Eric, but couldn't get him to leave. Literally. I got to know so many guys at the Northern Precinct station because of Eric. I'm still afraid of Eric. Every once in a while I think I see him and I start to have a panic attack as I flee the scene. Oh, Eric...
So I finally moved out of the crack den after a certain event with one of Eric's charming friends, Micah. Micha had a little crush on yours truly. Despite trying to woo me with such lines as "you know I've done time, right?" I never warmed to him. One night someone pounded on my (deadbolted) bedroom door at, like, 3 in the morning. They didn't stop so I finally got out of bed to check it out. There was Micha, totally strung out, holding a butcher's knife. He started walking towards me and I started to panic, thinking "wow, so this is how I die." Rather than slice me from gullet to gills as I expected, he gently handed the knife to me and told me to think of him every time I use it. I grabbed the knife, shoved Micah out of my room and re-deadbolted the door. Then I called Momma to tell her I was moving. Immediately. Cost be damned. Momma agreed.
So what's the point of this story? I'm interviewing some dude tomorrow that lives at...The Crack Den! What are the fucking odds of that? And he lists embroidery as one of his special skills. Let me tell you, I am soooooo looking forward to this interview!
Micah, by the way, later went on to date Magda, everybody's favorite strung out USF speed freak. It really is a fucking small world.
posted by La Doña at 4:28 PM
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