Down California

This began as a short-short from a writing class but grew longer. It was a writing exercise where the class had to write a story where everything falls apart or a series of events falls apart.

 I am trying with all the energy and force that I have to move quicker; trying not to move fast; but walk just fast enough to keep up with the regular stride of the two girls in front of me.  Who, by the way, seem more interested in their conversation with each other than they do with walking.  Though even with their distracted pace they are a yard or so ahead of me.  I can't even blame my usual four inch wedge heals for slowing me down; I have sneakers on. Why I can't walk the normal pace of everyone else I will never know. Yes, I am small, an inch over five feet, however one of the girls that had out-walked me was shorter than I was. 

 

I finally give up, slow down and start to enjoy my walk.  Plus now I am headed up hill, one of the steep hilled streets in San Francisco.  I was planning on walking all the way up Taylor Street and down again past Bimbo's to the waterfront.  Once there I would head toward the left and cross the piers and honky-tonk vendors that run parallel on Jefferson, then meander my way onto Van Ness through Beach and Polk streets.  Van Ness would take me to the place I wanted to be, The Opera House Deli.  That’s where my pie was, my luscious scrumptious apple pie, heated with whip or ice cream; it didn’t matter which. 

I could have walked straight down Geary and made it there in much less time and distance.  But, I had to walk, to make up for eating the pie.  And a good walk it would be too, it would be at least five miles the way I was going.  I would walk again when I was done with the pie.  I was planning on taking the pie to the movie with me then walk back up California, back around to the waterfront, up and down Taylor again to my crappy run down hotel.  That would be a damn good walk, enough to work off some of that pie I thought.  My hotel would not extend my stay, they would only hold my luggage.  A big convention, no rooms left in the entire city.  

I had now made it down past Barnes & Noble and was heading left.  The wind was a little fiercer down here; it was not a cutting blow, not freezing cold like the northeast.  Sort of a soft cold that made you feel it but not make you want to run into the closest building in search of warmth.

It was then that I smelled something sweet and barbequey.  Someone was cooking something good in one of the restaurants down here and it was wafting all around.  My stomach growled.  It was three o'clock and I had not eaten since 5pm the day before.  Fasting most of the day was another effort in preparation to ward off the calories of my forthcoming apple pie feast.

My eyes and nose found the source of the good smells.  Just outside one of the Restaurants/grills that dotted around Jefferson Street there was a man with a little pushcart.  Inside the cart was a slab of ribs to which the man behind the cart was portioning out samples to people.  Even from across the street I could feel the heat emanating from the center of the cart; somewhere inside the middle heat was being generated to keep the ribs warm. 

A tiny piece of meat wouldn't hurt I thought, just a little taste.  I get in queue behind a line that was already six deep with people.  As I get closer I could see the size of the portions that were being dolled out.  They were quite big.  Oh well I thought, I better not; I don't want to ruin my appetite.  Beside me I could see the customers that had already been served gnawing on their ribs. Ahh...hmmm it is free, I'll only eat half and throw the rest away.

I am second in line and now can see how thick and juicy they really are.  I bite my bottom lip as the man puts four ribs in a paper tray for me.  Mmm yum, I eat two of the ribs before I am even a block away from the restaurant.  I walk over to one of the piers intent on dumping the last ribs out to the fish.  I take two more bites before I am in the middle of the pier.  Then a fourth.  There are only one and a half of the ribs left now.  I toss them off the end.  Well I didn't eat all of it, I think. 

I am so thirsty now.  I have to have a diet coke.  I need one.  Where can I get a bottle? There were machines advertising cans of soda, I had to have a bottle: an ice-cold 20oz bottle.  I resumed my walk again along the waterfront.  Looking around for a convenience store or stand that sold beverages, well scratch that; find a store or stand that sold over priced beverages to tourists like me. 

Walking along away from the pier is where I saw the sign.  It was neon sign, blinking In-N-Out/In-N-Out.  Suddenly I remembered that I hadn’t tried an In-N-Out burger yet.  I had spent ten days in San Francisco and had seen the In-N-Out Burger place walking down here before but hadn’t checked it out yet.  One of the things on my list of Things To Do in California was to try an In-N-Out burger.  I was leaving late tonight and wouldn’t have a chance to get one if I didn’t get one now I thought.  No! but my pie!  I’ll just go inside and take a look around.  I could buy a soda in there.  It would be a syrupy fountain soda but at least I could see what the big deal was.  If it smelled like McDonalds I would leave with just my soda. 

Once inside the fast food restaurant I see that it is very crowded.  There are five registers all with several people waiting to order their food.  I see people with trays filled with burgers in tiny white bags, with just a bit of the burger sticking out.  I see people with no carb burgers wrapped in lettuce.  I see veggie and turkey burgers; burgers of all kinds it seemed.  I’ll get one, just to see what it tastes like I reason with myself.  I wait in line being pushed and shoved by the mass of humans around me, two times losing which line I’m supposed to be in.  Finally I order, “A cheese burger please and a large diet coke.” “You wanta ketchup?” yes “unyuns-peeeckils-maynaise?”  The middle aged Asian woman behind the counter asked me.  “No plain with just ketch- “You wanta fren fries, is special less money”- She cuts in “No I don’t  want fries- ...”you haff get it special, numba fouh- less money” .....No-no fries I say again.  She bangs on her register and says $5.98.  I give her six dollars.  She shoves two pennies in my hand.  You numba 2-6-2-1, food ova thahh” She thrusts the receipt at me and points to my left. 

I walk over to the next counter trying to financially figure out weather I got the special or she charged me for just the coke and the burger.  I don’t want fries!  I will throw them out!  People are already pacing about here waiting for their number to be called, I join them trying to look over at the other counter for the menu that is hung above, no use I can’t see it.  I don’t want to miss my number being called so I stay put. 

As I am waiting and waiting, all different numbers are called... 334, 9603, 22, it is impossible to discern whether my number is getting closer and the crowd disallows much of a pecking order.  Finally my number is called.  I have fries, I don’t want fries!!!!!  I eat one then two before I slide myself into a counter seat.  I sip my soda ... damn-it-to-f*****g-hell!  It was a real coke, not diet.  I take a bigger sip and get a mouth full sugary syrup confirming it is not the chemical sweetener my taste buds have grown up with.  Yuck! 

I take a bite of the burger and another nibble.  It tastes like Wendy’s.  Kind of dull like they boiled the meat instead of grilled or fried it.  The fries were good.  Hot right out of the deep fryer grease they were cooked in.  I eat the entire order of fries.  Always intending as I am eating them that the last one I eat will be the last one that I will eat, until the little cardboard box is nearly empty.  It has only one cold fry in it when I throw it away in a sidewalk trash-can as I am walking up Van Ness.  It took me less then three minutes to eat that entire order of fries.  At least I threw the hamburger out, hmm ... well ...I threw most of it out anyway.

It took a minute but I then remembered I was thirsty upon entering In-N-Out Burger.  The soda that I ordered having been throne out in haste because I didn’t want to wade though the masses to complain.  Van Ness has more bars on it than any other street I had walked on in this city.  And I had walked all over San Francisco.  But I did find a small convenience store where it intersected with California Street.  I buy a bottle of diet coke surprised that it didn’t cost more than two dollars.  I devour it, drinking and quietly burping the rest of the way to the Deli.  Diet coke has the uncanny ability to cut right through my stomach like a razor, making whatever I just ate all that more buoyant and light in my belly. 

When I arrive at the Deli I order my pie to go.  While I am waiting I peruse their menu.  When I was here before I had gotten their soup and salad purposefully lighter so I could get desert.  As I was waiting for the counter person to rap up the pie, which was taking interminably long because he was chatting on his cell as he was preparing it.  Not once even pointing his white zitty adolescent face in my direction as I ordered.  My attention went down to the pastrami sandwich that was being made for another customer.  It looked huge.  I love lean pastrami and the sandwich in front of me had super lean meat.  The girl behind the counter must of seen me looking at it because she said to me “The pastrami is our featured item today; only $7.99”.  Seven dollars? For that big sandwich, wow, well eight dollars really, but I could save half for my redeye flight tonight.  Two sandwiches in one that’s a good deal.  I order it, re-checking my bag to make sure there is enough room to stow it.

I walk outside now smelling the juicy hot sandwich that I am holding in my hand.  The pie is packed away in my bag.  I sit down on the gigantic descending staircase of the actual San Francisco Opera House.  I take out the sandwich and look at it.  It’s perfect.  It had a big, chewy knotted roll, grilled not toasted, the cheese is melted between the layers of meat.  The layers of which are piled higher than the length of my thumb.  I take one bit and then another and another and before I know it most of the sandwich is gone.  I only have half of a half left.  I throw it out disgusted that I couldn’t save the half that I wanted to.  I start walking back on Van Ness toward California Street.  I buy another coke at the convenience store and start walking down California to the theatre intent on making the 5pm show.  By the time it got out it would be after 7 and I could walk the long way back to my hotel, collect my luggage that the front office was holding for me, and meet my 9pm shuttle to the airport.  I would have plenty of time to spare for my 12:45am flight.

Once I was near the theatre I bought an extra large coffee.  Thankfully there were many cafe’s in San Francisco, independent establishments, not just Starbucks.  Nice ones that will warm up baked goods for you in real oven not just zap it in a microwave.

Sitting in the nearly empty theater I began to unpack my stash.  I took out my pie glad that the counter person wrapped the ice-cream separate from the pie.  The only thing was ... there was something else at the bottom of the bag, it wasn’t empty.  At the bottom of the bag there was a black and white cookie.  What the... I had told the clerk that I wanted the pie that was next to the black and white cookie!  I never said that I wanted the cookie.  I scrounge in my pocket for the receipt, yup there was the 2.50 charge for the cookie ... 2.50 ?!?!

I look at the black and white cookie.  I had never tasted one before.  They looked strange to me ... weird, anything but appetizing.  All that sugary icing on top was unappealing to me.  I brake off a corner and take a bite.  It is soft, the icing instantly melts in my mouth.  It was not flaky or crunchy at all.  The cookie was warm from being packed underneath the hot pie.  Because I am virtually alone in the theater (there were two people in the rows near the front and one guy in back) I kick my shoes off and put my feet up on the chair in front of me.  The movie I’m watching is a documentary film about two west coast indie rock bands.  One having somewhat mainstream success and the other toiling away in cult status because the lead singer/songwriter is insane.  The plot didn’t matter, I wasn’t paying the movie any attention.  I am more interested in my cookie, which was rapidly disappearing.  I am finished with it before the movie is over.  As for my other stash; my soda is gone, the coffee is cold and not even half drunk and my pie sits on the seat next to me only partially eaten in between bites of the cookie.

When I walk outside; my stomach is so full the food swells at the bottom of my throat.  I walk back up California toward Van Ness, I finish my cold coffee and immediately heave some of the ingested cookie and pie into my extra large cup.  I replace the lid covering its messy contents.  I buy my third diet of the day and turn around and begin walking back toward the wharf area.  I take the soda from my bag and drink a big swig and hide it quickly back in side the bag.  The rush of fizzy liquid makes the last bit of the cookie come up along with some of the pastrami sandwich.  All the time I am walking down the street I am regurgitating the half digested food into the cup, discreetly.  I think it looks like I’m sipping not spitting.  As I get closer to the waterfront my vomiting becomes more increased.  I throw the full cup away and start to walk along the beach before one of the piers.  It is very quiet down here, deserted, I only see one other person.  I take of my shoes and socks and roll up my jeans, wading into the ocean just past my ankles to my calves.  I try and lurch my stomach into heaving up more food.  Heaving is much quieter than all out throwing up.  However I am standing up and gravity is working against me.  Only little bits of food come up.  Even with my constant drinking.

I walk out of the water and gather my bag, sneakers and socks from the beach and walk up to an empty pier and lean over the side.  Instantly; from the pressure of leaning with the edge of the pier jutting into my belly; more food rolls out of my stomach into the harbor.  I sit back up and finish off the last of my soda, more food comes up, thanks to the carbonation and liquid.  Using my fingers to force up food too hard for me, constantly drinking is much more affective way of heaving

When I feel my belly is mostly empty I get up and look at my watch.  It is ten past 8.  Oooh-no.  I’ m supposed to meet my shuttle in fifty minutes.  F**k now I’m going to have to take a taxi ... s**t.  I’d never make it back to the hotel in time by walking ... that big hill ... why did I have to stay down here so long!  I could have walked to the hotel right away ... all that food though ... all that awful food I thought ... I had to get rid of it.

My socks are matted to my still wet feet that have now dampened my sneakers.   I put myself and my bag back together, checking in my pocket mirror for any signs of food or slime.  I use a travel size wet napkin and clean my hands and face.  I go back to the restaurant area of the water front and run around looking for a cab.  I find one in front of The Argonaut hotel.  I tell the cab driver to take me to the Taylor Hotel.  “What” he says.  “I dunno where that is, let me call my base”.  He does so as we are driving around all the while the meter on his dashboard is increasing in its monetary rate.  Though my stomach is tender and sore I lift myself up over the front seat and tell the driver ... “The hotel is over to the right” ...and show him the way.  The acid bile in my stomach is licking at the walls of my throat burning its way in through to my nostrils as I tell him where to drive.  It burns and I want to cry it hurts so much to speak.  My nose is cold and I feel it running.  I unconsciously wipe my nose as I fumble for a tissue, when I take my hand away I am shocked to see a red smudge down the side of my index finger.  My nose is bleeding.  I clean the mess on my finger and blow my nose to force out what I think is a small amount of blood.  A mistake since the tissue is instantly absorbed with blood.  I grab the last of my tissues and pinch my nose shut for the rest of the ride. 

Again, I think why did I eat so much ... I’m such  pig.  We finally get through Jefferson Street and head towards what will surely be a ten maybe fifteen dollar cab fare for me... more than the shuttle to the airport.  All which I could have avoided had I not eaten so much and just stuck to eating the apple pie ... my apple pie ... most of which is crushed in the bottom of a trash can back down on California. 

Author's Note

I know this piece has a lot of grammar problems. I have edited the best that I could. It is not laziness, I just don't have those skills. Some people in elementary and high school left those institutions without being taught to read ... I was never properly taught grammar. And I do not have anyone to proofread my work right now. My apologies. I hope that you can look more to the content. Cheers