Two days ago, I got a Visit from a Candidate at my home. See, in case you don't know, in San Francisco we elect supervisors by district and the districts aren't all that huge and in some cases (like for me, 2 days ago), you get an actual candidate knocking on your door with his campaign manager.
My dog was going FUCKING APESHIT and the candidate just smiled and laughed. I shut the little freak inside and went out on the porch and talked to the candidate. He was super nice. He wanted to know what issues concerned me the most. I had a moment of panic, like getting called on in class, because I hadn't prepared anything. Finally, I went with the standard SF answer, Muni. He agreed that Muni was fucked up, although he didn't use those exact words.
Meanwhile, directly over the candidate's shoulder, a recycling poacher was torso-deep in my neighbor's recycling bin, digging out bottles. I had kind of zoned out at that point and wasn't paying attention and I interrupted the candidate.
My dog was going FUCKING APESHIT and the candidate just smiled and laughed. I shut the little freak inside and went out on the porch and talked to the candidate. He was super nice. He wanted to know what issues concerned me the most. I had a moment of panic, like getting called on in class, because I hadn't prepared anything. Finally, I went with the standard SF answer, Muni. He agreed that Muni was fucked up, although he didn't use those exact words.
Meanwhile, directly over the candidate's shoulder, a recycling poacher was torso-deep in my neighbor's recycling bin, digging out bottles. I had kind of zoned out at that point and wasn't paying attention and I interrupted the candidate.
"What about recycling poachers?" I asked.
The candidate and his campaign manager looked startled and confused. I pointed behind them and they both looked at the recycling poacher. The recycling poacher paused momentarily and looked back at us.
"I'm not sure," said the candidate. "Walk me through it." So I explained that not only are they are fucking pain in the ass with the breaking bottles and smashing cans at 11:30 p.m., they're also taking money out of the city's pocket that it needs to sustain the recycling program. The candidate confessed that recycling poaching wasn't really Issue Number One on his radar, but promised to look into it.
So we all chatted for about 15 minutes about all kinds of stuff and he basically sold me. Me and The Wife are going to vote for him. I don't agree with everything he said, but he seems like a smart and normal person, which is more than you can say for most supervisors.
Oh, and how about this? Yesterday, there was a handwritten note in my mailbox from the candidate telling me he was looking into the recycling thing. I mean, that's pretty intense.
(If you live in District 8 and want to know who this wunderkind is, email me and I'll tell you.)
In other news, had to send some Important Documents via Certified Mail and so I fetched myself down to the Civic Center Post Office located in the beautiful Fox Plaza. This place is a Hotbed of The Crazy, let me tell you.
I'll set the scene for you: 2 bored, slow-moving clerks. 10 people or so in line. Well, "people" doesn't really do it justice. 10 of the most random, odd-looking circus freaks/escapees from a Bukowski novel you'll ever hope to see.
In other news, had to send some Important Documents via Certified Mail and so I fetched myself down to the Civic Center Post Office located in the beautiful Fox Plaza. This place is a Hotbed of The Crazy, let me tell you.
I'll set the scene for you: 2 bored, slow-moving clerks. 10 people or so in line. Well, "people" doesn't really do it justice. 10 of the most random, odd-looking circus freaks/escapees from a Bukowski novel you'll ever hope to see.
Freak #1 is mid-60s, bushy hair and beard, blue knit cap. He tosses a cardboard box up on the counter with the flaps folded down. Like you can just cross the flaps on any old torn-up cardboard box and send it off through the U.S. Mails.
The clerk examined it. "Sir, there's no address on this."
That's right! Not only did homeboy bring it in a falling-apart box that wasn't taped up, he forgot to address it. He got sent away with a roll of tape and, presumably, some basic instructions about how mail works. Just because you know who you want to send it to doesn't mean the Post Office knows!!!!
I'm not even going to get into the guy who had an argument with the Head Clerk about whether she should have let the Other Clerk go on break or not, or the guy who was paying with his debit card and the Clerk said, "OK, now your PIN," and the guy said "EIGHT...FIVE-" and the Clerk said "NO! No, just enter it on the keypad." Seriously, first time out with the debit card?
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