There’s always a lot of talk around these parts about what constitutes “the REAL San Francisco,” right? Well, anadromy, one of our new favorite bloggers, has a humdinger of an answer:
Last year, I met a girl online. Turned out she had just moved here from Beijing. She kept saying she wanted to see, “Authentic San Francisco.” It would be impossible for me to phonetically spell out the bizarre and borderline incomprehensible grandeur of her accent, but suffice it to say that it took several, “Excuse me’s?” before I understood her meaning. When I got it, I decided to try to give her what she wanted. We climbed into the beater pickup truck I was driving then and I just started driving. I didn’t know where the hell to go to find “Authentic San Francisco.” But I gave it my best shot. We went up Portola so she could see the view, then cruised down through the Castro and into the Mission. To my shock, there was a parking space right outside of the Latin American Club. Then, to my even greater shock, there was an open booth in the window. So I sat the girl from Beijing down in the booth and went to get us some drinks. When I came back, there were two young Mission kids sitting in the booth with her. I sat down and they said they had been sitting there originally, but that we were more than welcome to join them. About 30 seconds later, they more or less started having sex. I’m only exaggerating a little bit. Zippers were unzipped. Hands were down pants and up shirts. The guy’s knees kept banging into mine, too.