The San Fran Chronicles

Part 1

Part 2

Day 1 – 8:00pm

Since this was my first time in San Francisco, I had never known how small it was.  When I hear about a city as well known as San Fran, my general assumption is that it’s very large.  Although it does have a lot of people (roughly 700k), the city itself is only 7 by 7 miles in size.  This made it very easy to walk everywhere, and it also made cab fares relatively cheap when needed.  Since we are starting the night in the Marina district, it’s only a few minutes walk from Stephs’ to the restaurant.  On the way, Mere decides to by cigarettes; this is when it strikes me just how drunk Mere is.  Not because she is buying smokes, but because of the language that follows.

Mere (while looking at a wall of cigarettes) “Do you guys have cigarettes?”
Clerk  “Yes.”
Mere  “Can I buy some?”
Clerk  “Yes.”
Mere  “Can I buy Marlboro Menthol Lights?”
Clerk  “Yes.”
Mere  “Are you making fun of me?”
Clerk  “Yes.”

This conversation lasts another few unnecessary minutes, then we take to the streets with cigarettes in hand.

Mere  “You’re a faggot.”
Me  “Just because you look like a 3^rd grade boy and I’m hanging out with you, does not mean I’m a faggot.”

This was trouble; she had just dropped her “point of no return” word.  Now for Mere to insult someone, especially me, is nothing out of the ordinary.  For her to attack my heterosexuality by calling me a practitioner of homosexuality, again not out of the ordinary.  But the word “faggot” (not fag, homo, queer, gay, cock jockey, etc.) is a red flag alerting me that Mere is no longer with us this evening.  Everybody has that “thing” that signifies lights out.  For some, it’s a word or a phrase they use when the alcohol has taken over every last functioning brain cell, and for others it might be an action.  A lot of people (roid monkeys) become angry and aggressive, some people (chicks and weak men) cry uncontrollably for no reason, the list goes on.  My “thing” (or so I’ve been told) is what has become known as the Fake Pass Out.  Apparently when I reach my point of too much fun, I engage in said activity.  How it works is somebody calls my name, we lock eyes, and then I fake pass out, standing or seated, it does not matter.  Seconds later, I slowly open one eye to see if they’ve taken the bait.  Generally, I fool no one.  Anyway, bottom line, it looks like my wingwoman will be out of service within a few hours, max.

Day 1 – 8:30pm

We arrive at Mamacita; it is here when I have a new realization.  Now when you visit a friend somewhere, and they take you to their place of work, it’s common to assume they are experts of their area and their craft.  It has just dawned on me that Mere has only been living in San Fran for a few weeks, which I totally forgot.  So not only did she not know her way around the city, she also hasn’t worked a real shift yet; her first day will be Sunday night.  With this in mind, I start with beer (she looks like she can do a fine enough job of getting herself fired, no need for my assistance).  We grab a seat outside as the restaurant is expectedly busy on a Friday night.

When our server comes out, I learn his name is Sean.  He happens to be Gimpy’s roommate, but thankfully much cooler.  He quickly notices Mere’s state of inebriation and directs the drink order to me.  I order 2 Tecates, in the can (hey, gotta keep it classy).  Mere is going over the menu with me, which is very difficult to understand because she is retarded and the restaurant also happens to serve a lot of Spanish foods, hence Mamacita.  Another server, Kevin, pops out to say hello.

Kevin  “Hey, Kevin, nice to meet you man.”
Me (shaking hands) “Same here sir.”

Take a note Gimpy, this is how you leave a good (normal) first impression.

Kevin  “And how are you Meredith?”
Mere  “I’m Good (Drunk).”

If I knew how to type a backwards G for Good, I would.

Kevin (observant) “Wow, you’re fucked up.”
Mere  “No I’m not (Yes I am).”
Kevin  “I give it 2 hours til you’re passed out.”
Mere  “What, no way, I’ll be out all night (lie)!”

Now if you’re a betting man, consider Kevin a professional handicapper.  The over/under has been set at 10:30pm.  Smart money takes the under.

Kevin  “What do you guys want?”

Now Mere already knows what she (we) is (are) ordering, so I just give a head nod.  Kevin quizzes her as to what comes on our order, miraculously she gets everything right.  Moments later, our beer has arrived.  Thank God, I didn’t come here to make friends.  As I start to drink, we are joined by Mere’s GM.  This is one of those close-nit family restaurants (not like a mom and pop dive, but a restaurant where the staff seems like a family), which can either be great or suck.  If the staff is cool, a family style atmosphere makes work almost enjoyable.  If the staff is loaded with douches, work goes from Pauly Shore (bad) to Gary Busey (worse) real quick.  Fortunately for this restaurant, everyone I have met seems to be much cooler than Mere.  Unfortunately for this restaurant, they did agree to hire Mere.  Let’s move on.  Mere requests a random round of shots which the GM heads in to find.  Next, out comes the food.

Day 1 – 9:00pm

Like I said, the menu is very Spanish, so lots of things are hard to read.  Mere had ordered the chilaquiles casi listos, which I’m fairly certain translates to “Delicious Heart Attack.”  Any item that comes with tortilla chips but requires a spoon does not strike me as Atkins approved.  As Mere dives in, I can’t help but to reflect on a conversation we had earlier that day.  A conversation where she asked me if she looks like she had gained weight and I politely lied to her and said no.  Regardless on one’s stance on nutrition, this interesting appetizer was very delicious.  After a few bites, I focus more on my beer as well as internally scrutinizing Mere’s assault on said meal.  Shortly thereafter, the GM returns with a tray carrying 3 shot glasses.  Tequila time.

I can’t remember the name of the Tequila, mainly because I don’t speak Spanish, but apparently it is very clean.  I asked if it was “better” than Patron.  I’m not a big tequila drinker, I just know from extensive bar hopping experience that Patron is always way more expensive than the tequila I prefer, Albertson’s brand.  The GM finds this laughable.  Apparently this tequila has no sugar and is somehow cleaner than 100 percent Agave brands.  I don’t know what that means, and if you honestly care, just Google “tequila.”  I had one concern to express.

Me  “Does this do the same thing as regular tequila?”
GM  “What do you mean?”
Me  “Help me make poor decisions?”
GM  “Yes.”

And down goes the shot.  We spend a few more minutes at the restaurant as I slam the rest of Mere’s Tecate.  She picks up the tab (finally being useful) and we head to the next destination, The Tipsy Pig.

Day 1 – 9:30pm

On the way to The Tipsy Pig, we walk passed a bar called Delaney’s.  This is just a quick shout out to my UCF folks; we have a popular college bar called Devaney’s (it even has the same colors).  Next, we enter The Tipsy Pig, which is the sister restaurant of Mamacita, but offers later hours and more of a bar atmosphere.  The bar is really crowded as we muscle our way to the counter.  The man in front of us gets up to offer his seat to his date.  Mere finds this an appropriate time to dive in from the other side.  She gives unwarranted dirty looks to the Nice Couple as I quickly rip her from the stool.

Mere  “What?!?”
Me  “Keep it together woman.”

Mere heads to the restroom as I order a Lagunitas IPA, and a Stella for my partner in crime.  There are 3 sizes, Piglet (10oz), Pint (16oz), and Tipsy Pig (20oz, also served in a goblet-esque glass).  Now if I need to clarify which size I ordered, please stop reading this and go split a Mike’s Hard Lemonade with your 13 year old cousin.  As I wait for my drinks, I take this moment to apologize to Nice Couple.

Me  “Sorry about that, she wasn’t paying attention.”
Nice Couple  “Oh not a problem, is that your wife?”

I restrain from punching, and then vomiting all over Nice Couple.

Me  “Clearly I can do much better than that.”

After I shoot an offensive wink at the female member of Nice Couple, I grab the drinks and head towards the outside portion of the bar.  While in route, I snag Mere who is walking back towards the bar.  The outside area is also very busy, so we bunk up with a 3some disguised as LA trash.  After exchanging several lines of dialogue with the 3some, apparently not so much disguised, rather just LA trash.  It’s 1 dude wearing sunglasses at 10:00pm, and 2 women who are dressed like they’re unaware that they are actually pushing 50.  Their faces look like middle school science lab skeletons with latex masks hanging loosely from them.  Mere throws them a dirty look, this time said look is warranted.  All of a sudden my phone rings, it’s my mom.  This is strange because where she’s calling from it’s 1 in the morning.

Me  “Hello?”
Mom  “Hi.”
Me  “Yes?”
Mom  “Just saying hi.”
Me  “Is there something I can help you with?”

Before I get a chance to hear the reply, Mere rips the phone from me.

Mere  “Hi mommy.”

I can no longer hear the other end of the phone, but Mere actually sounds coherent.  She randomly collects herself for a 10 minute conversation with my mother, after only moments ago when she literally looked through me as I passed her in the bar hallway.  This is a skill that many people possess, I do not.  The conversation ends with Mere (a resident of San Francisco) asking my mom (a resident of Florida) for a list of things to do in San Francisco.  I say goodbye and hang up.  It’s time for the next bar.  My buzz is starting to kick in, but I am nowhere near the “vacation level” of drunk that I wish to attain by night’s end.

Day 1 – 10:15pm

Monaghan’s was the name of the next bar I saw, so we dove in.  They also had a sign claiming $3 Red Stripe, game on.  Once in the bar, we found a couple stools available towards the far end.  I can’t recall the bartender’s name, but he recognized Mere from a week or so ago when she was in here with Steph.  He was heavyset and sweating profusely, but did a fine job of opening my Red Stripe.  After about 3 minutes of leisure sitting, Mere alerts me that it is time to go.

Mere  “It is time to go.”
Me  “What, why?  I’m just starting to catch up.”
Mere  “I need to go to sleep, let’s get a cab.”

Seeing this as an opportunity to “cut the fat” so to speak, I slam the rest of her beer and we head back out.  As Mere blindly walks into oncoming traffic in attempts to hail a cab, I pull her ass back to the curb.

Me  “You don’t move.”

I flag us down a cab and we pile in and head back towards her place.  Now, being the gentleman (lost vacationer) that I am, I thought the noble (necessary) thing to do would be to drop her off and find a bar near her house.  As we get there, the Cab Driver says he will wait a minute and take me to a bar several blocks away “where the chicks are.”  Thank you sir.  I escort Mere back down the creepy hallway and into her place.  This is where she begins to test my drunk patients.

Mere  “I’m going with you.”
Me  “What?  What are you talking about?”
Mere  “I’m going with you to the bar.”
Me  “Are you out of your fucking mind?  We drove here so you could go to sleep.”
Mere  “I don’t want to go to sleep.”
Me  “Then how come you said to get a cab, and I quote ‘I need to go to sleep’?”
Mere  “I never said that?”

This is getting a bit ridiculous.

Mere  “I’m coming, I just need to use the bathroom.”

Perfect.

Me  “Ok, but hurry up, the Cab Driver is waiting.”
Mere  “Ok.”

As the bathroom door closes, I make my stealthy getaway back to the streets.  See ya Mere, it’s time for fun!  I dive into the cab.

Me  “DRIVE, DRIVE, DRIVE!”

The Cab Driver takes off.  Oh, and if you took the Under on 10:30pm, give youself a pat on the back, for you are victorious!  A few minutes later, the Cab Driver drops me off at place called Mad Pianos.  This is a dueling piano bar associated with a neighboring Irish pub called Johnny Foley’s.  I consider both establishments, but choose to go with the piano bar because, well because piano bars are always a good time.  The Mensa member (doorman) takes way too long scanning my Florida ID and finally let’s me into the bar.  This place is super busy, but the moment I walk in I hear one of the pianists announcing some girl’s 21ist birthday.  Jackpot!  I literally shove my way to the bar, giving that “it was the guy behind me” expression to everyone who glares.

Bartender  “What will it be?”
Me  “Guinness and a shot of Jameson.”

That’s right, it’s time to get sloppy.  I had borrowed a post-it from the Cab Driver on which I wrote Mere’s address, so incase I am unable to follow her detailed map home, I can stick the post-it on my forehead and wander the streets with my thumb out.  I continue to jolt through the crowd looking for a spot to post up and gaze intently at the stage like a stoned college kid staring at the party’s fire-pit; allow me digress just for a moment.

I am very new at the whole “alone at the bar” thing.  I’m not really of huge fan of drinking alone (publicly, that is).  Back in the day (college, 5 months ago), if I was alone at a bar, I was at least friends with the bartender/bartendress; it’s a bit different now, but I’m learning to adjust.  Furthermore, my alone “game” is very weak and undeveloped.  I have a strong personality, and most would suspect that I’d be just fine walking into a group unarmed (wingmanless) and firing away with the stupidity that usually comes rifling out of my mouth, but this is not my forte.  Even in the old days if I was to approach a girl alone, if conversation became stale, I would just invite her back to the area where my friends were and engage in some sort of drinking game.  Nowadays, I don’t think any girl would be interested in joining me in my creep corner to stare at the group of girls that I just pulled her away from.  Moving on.

The battery on my camera is about to kick, so I try my best to capture a picture of the 2^nd Birthday Girl I’ve seen today as she stumbles around on stage.  2 songs later, and after learning that 2^nd Birthday Girl’s party was more of a family thing and not a pack of post 21 depressants that wreak of desperation and Tequila and can be easily duped into sexual exploitation, I rip 2 more shots of whiskey and head back outside.  I do a walk through of the adjoining bar, but as I discover no excitement, I’m outside once again.

Day 1 – 11:30pm

As I’m stumbling around happy (drunk) and alone (bored), I come across a place called Union Square Sports Bar.  It has just occurred to me that I am fucking starving!  I only ate 2 out of the 3 bags of jerky that I had brought on the trek, and a few spoonfuls of fat-soaked tortilla chips from Mamacita.  A Sports Bar should have food, why not?  I head in and find a stool and a meager crowd.  The Bartendress hustles over to take my order.

Bartendress  “Hey sweetie, what can I get you?”

I love how slutty Bartendresses dress and talk; they are like strippers, but drunk instead of coked up.

Me  “Not sure, do you guys serve food?”
Bartendress  “Sorry, kitchen’s closed.”
Me  “That’s too bad, I’ll take an Amstel Light draft.”
Useless Hooker  “You got it love!”

I can’t quite recall if Useless Hooker was hot and/or Asian.  For those of you not familiar with California, Asians are everywhere.  In Florida, the only time you see an Asian person is at Disney World, or if you are being tutored.  I finish this beer quickly because I can’t get my drunk mind off food; this is the mission, and it will be accomplished.  Perhaps Danny Tanner will be seated next to me at the diner, who knows.  I pay for the beer, part ways with Useless Hooker, and crawl back outside.  I can’t recall if it was Useless Hooker that told me where to go for food, or if it was a random streetwalker.  If it was Useless Hooker, she is now just Hooker.

Day 2 – 12:15am (estimate)

Luckily, Café Mason is open 24 hours a day and only a block away!  I fall in through the front door and find a seat at the bar counter.  I order a Stella as I peruse the menu for the perfect item (items).  I can’t decide between the chicken wings or the Santa Fe omelette (Chorizo (pork sausage), jack cheese & bell peppers), so I go with both.  The Server quizzes me with her eyes, searching for signs of marijuana use.  No Server, I am not high, merely drunk.

Me  “What, is that too much food or something?”
Server (giggling) “Well, it’s a lot.”
Me  “I’m a growing boy.”
Server  “I guess so, let me put that in for you.”
Me  “That’s what she said.”
Server  “What?”
Me  “Huh?”

She walks away in confusion.  I must have been intoxicated, “that’s what she said?”  That hasn’t been funny ever since The Office claimed they came up with it and ruined such a brilliant term for everyone else.  The chicken wings came out fast; I am excited.  After devouring these in a matter of minutes, I call for my omelette.  As Server returns with my omelette, a Strange Older Woman stands over my shoulder and address her.

Strange Older Woman (whispering)  “Um excuse me?”
Server  “Yes?”
Strange Older Woman  “I think there is someone on the floor in the ladies room.”
Me  “Dibs.”

I laugh alone.

Server  “Really, what do you mean?”
Strange Older Woman  “I’ll show you.”

The two head towards the ladies room to help scrape my Future Wife from her tile bed.  Server returns with a panic look on her face.  She rushes to get the manager, who joins her in the restroom.  There is a lot of whispering and I can’t quite understand what’s going on; I continue to manhandle my omelette.  Server is joined by Server #2, they begin to gossip about the bathroom chick.  Several of my sexual advances towards said Servers go unnoticed.  Either they couldn’t understand me, or the wing sauce and ketchup on my face didn’t exactly scream “3some material.”

Day 2 – 1:00am (estimate)

All of a sudden, my phone rings.  I do not recognize the number.

Me  “Hello?”
Mere  “HEY!”
Me  “What the fuck?  Mere?  Who’s number is this?”
Mere  “You ditched me!”
Me  “I didn’t ditch you, you fell asleep so I went back out.”
Mere  “Really?”
Me  “Sure.  Where are you?”
Mere  “At my neighbors, where are you?”
Me  “Some restaurant.”
Mere  “Where, I’m coming to meet you.  I’m hungry.”
Me  “Mere I’m leaving soon, heading back towards your place.”
Mere  “Well bring me something home.”
Me  “Ok.  See ya.”
Mere  “Wait, I didn’t tell you what I want?”
Me  “Yeah you did.”
Mere  “Oh, ok, see ya.”

Just as I hang up and ask for my bill, the police arrive.  I search my pockets to make sure that my “stash” is not visible, and then it dawns on me that I’m no longer 15, and that I in fact have no “stash.”  The police rush towards the restroom and return moments later carrying my Future Wife between them.  It seems I had misread the situation.  The woman in the restroom, who I presumed to be heavily intoxicated and taking a floor nap, was in fact an elderly lady who had fallen down.  Have you ever seen those old people necklaces, the ones where if the fall or get stuck, they can press a button on it and it calls for help?  Apparently those aren’t just to humor us young, agile people, and they do in fact serve a purpose!  Whodathunkit?  As Granny gets dragged on by…

Me  “Undibs.”

Server laughs, so I make a last ditch effort to bring her back to Mere’s cave to share a full-size bed with me and one other person.

Me  “What are you doing later?”
Server  “I work for like another hour.”
Me  “After that?”
Server  “Going home, I’m tired.”
Me  “You sure you don’t want to come home with me and share a bed with 2 strangers?”
Server  “Is that a joke?”
Me  “Depends on your answer.”

Server’s giggle/laughter has turned into a confused/terrified blank stare.

Me  “Yes, it was a joke.  Please don’t overcharge me.”

Clearly, it was no joke.  With a fruitless hook-up attempt, I cash out, go outside and find a cab.  I’m drunk, full, and ready to collapse (aka Mere from 3 hours ago).  I show the man my post-it with the address and he takes off.  I make it to my destination, throw a wad of cash at the driver and use the spare keys Mere had given me to let myself in.  I enter her room, but she is nowhere to be found.  I call the number she had called me from.

Me  “Hello?”
Random Dude  “Hello?”
Me  “Yeah, I’m looking for Mere.”
Random Dude  “Oh, I’m her neighbor.”
Me  “Oh, sorry man, is she over?”
Neighbor  “Nope, she left like 30 minutes ago.”
Me  “Ok, thanks.”

Fuck, she would get lost in her own building (although since she is the only one on the dungeon level, I see how it’s possible).  Moments later, I hear a noise.  Apparently I am now the dumb one.  She is snoring under the covers in her bed behind me.  Crisis avoided.  I barge into her bathroom, but forget to open the door first.  I smash my head against it.  Since technically it’s already the 4^th of July, I consider tonight/this morning “holiday pregaming.”  I do the only intelligent thing one can do after bashing your head against a wooden door, I go directly to sleep hoping that I will eventually wake up.

CONTINUE ON TO PART 3