Today was no fun at all. I had to do my usual run for soy milk, and something to eat for supper. We didn’t want to go far. There is one rule to our day to day lives in San Francisco, that is to not go out at weekends. We take our days off when the rest of the city is working for the most part, all the people flood into SF on a Saturday from less enlightened areas, bringing their attitudes, their small town mentality, their money and their bodies to pack our streets and businesses. I miss the darker days of lockdown when the wharf was empty, and the only people we had to share it with were other locals.
Nevertheless, I had somehow messed up. There was no tea, no milk, nothing for supper. We had to go. I have no idea where all these people come from on a weekend! We ran around the grocery store fast as we could, just trying to get in and out of there at speed. The lines were 15 people long, maskless, coughing. The woman in front of us ran to grab something…and the two (white elderly privileged stinking attitude) people behind us, started to talk to me. Rather the woman started to talk, the man stood there quietly wishing she would fucking stop, and telling her that the line would move along fast. “Hey! You! Just go ahead, that woman has gone!” “I turn around to see her sneer and her dripping of privilege and superiority towards me. I wondered if it was the Trust No One pin, my short hair that i have messed the back up of, my son in his cargo pants and mid tan skin. I wonder if she smelt the poverty on me. “No.” I reply, and ignore her. She continues to peck and complain. I swing round again, and ask her, “want to go in front of me?” She refuses. I turn back around and look for the woman ahead who had run off towards the strawberries. I can’t see her, and move towards the beckoning check out assistant. Behind me a woman is crowing. I want to punch her, but I don’t. I wouldn’t. It’s not me. But I can see how the crackheads get there.
I know the little machine never reads my phone with it’s on screen code for my discounts, and ask the assistant to bleep it for me. She refuses and waves towards the machine. I ask her again, refuse a bag, and she is asking me for money. As I try and put away my phone with the code on, the woman behind me is putting her stuff on the conveyorbelt. She is meant to be back in the line, not right there crowding me. I have had enough. “TAKE THE CART WITH YOU WHEN YOU GO!” the worker demands loudly. I told her I could not bleep the code, put my phone away, get out my cash, count it out and pay for things, and pull that cart at the same time, and yes, (bitch..thought not said) I will (fucking) take the cart with me. I always do. I ask her if she means to be so disrespectful and rude, the woman with the pearls is jabbering behind me telling me to hurry up. I start to feel dangerous. I start to feel harassed. I grab the shopping, pull the damn cart, and get out of there, before I end up on youtube throwing beef jerky at bepearled women and their tired meek husbands.
It is enough.
The harassment from those who think they are above me, the harassment from men dropping their pants on streets, and crackheads hating on my kid for the shape of his eyes and the color of his skin, it is enough. I don’t want them to fucking talk to me, interact with me, I don’t want them near me. I have had enough.
Nope. Best not to go out on Saturdays.
So then I get in and instead of reposting my post, and linking to my blog, someone has copied and pasted my lyrics to my song, didn’t make it clear it is MINE not theirs and, got 163 likes on MY SONG/POEM, and has people telling them how good it is as if it is their work made me fucking CRY. To be frank I’m furious. Furious. Worse still I like this person and considered them an online friend.
Not a great fucking day.