What Did You Say to Me?

I find myself asking this question way too often throughout the week. One of my patients will ask me something absolutely outrageous. I work with a lot of dementia patients, so there are some outright outlandish things said throughout the day. Now some people may think it is coarse that I talk about these things, but any kind of dementia is a pretty bleak disease. So, you have to laugh at these things. Not all of the quotes are from dementia patients though. Sometimes I just have people who say or do the craziest shit to me. So, here we go.

“I don’t have coffee before I come here because I drink it then I poop.”

This is what some people might say is a bit too much information. I am a speech-language pathologist. I really don’t need to know anything about your bowel movements. Yet for some reason, people think that if you are a medical provider, they need to tell you anything. It’s all sorts of stuff that people spew but mostly its about their bowel movements.

“Oh fuck yes”

“Whats wrong?” I asked my patient. “My brain is going down,” he responded. “Your brain is going down?” I asked.  “Oh Fuck yes,” he responded. This is my patient describing how his brain feels. This one is a little bit morbid but I felt like I had to include it just because of the way he said it. He was hysterically laughing. telling me that his brain is going “down.” It makes my job somewhat easier when people can laugh about themselves. I have patients with dementia who will constantly be happy to come in and happy they are just alive, and I know this because I ask. Then you get someone who complains the whole time they are in therapy. So, this definitely makes my life slightly easier.

“My dog ate his fucking toe”

My patient had a birthday party and was telling me how his friends came from Florida. Well he kept mentioning how his friend was stuck in a wheelchair because he was paralyzed below the waist. My patient was saying how this guy did everything with them despite being in a wheelchair. Well at the party, apparently there were a lot of people there and it was chaotic. By the end of the night, this man in the wheelchair had passed out in the living room. Guess what, my patient’s dog ate this man’s toe while he was sleeping. Just bit off one of the middle toes, like it was a fucking bacon bit.

“Yeah, two heart attacks”

My patient was talking about his ex-wife. He is constantly talking about her. So, he kept talking about all the food she used to cook. So I said, “she was a good cook?” somewhat rhetorically because I just wanted to keep the conversation going. He responds, “yeah great cook, two heart attacks.” I guess long term cooking skills are determined by how many heart attacks you can give your husband/wife.

“I was a nude show girl”

Next thing I know I’m looking at a picture of my patient from 60 years ago with her tits hanging out. This woman also made the list of quotes with this gem.

“I wouldn’t fuck him for $100, even if I was still working”

She was talking about a doctor who got a little upset when she tried to take her shirt off in the room in front of him. The doctor wanted to wait for a nurse, as to cover his ass while there was a naked woman in the room. It makes sense, but she took it as if the doc thought she was trying to fuck him. Which she made pretty clear, she did not want.

The next few quotes are after an activity I do with my patients called “item function. Its not so much as an activity as its me saying, what’s this item do, or I give them a definition and they have to tell me the item.

“I once tried to put stuff in here” *pointing to his ear*

I asked this patient what he does with a spoon, and he pretended to take the spoon and pour it into his ear. To be honest, I’m not sure if he was fucking with me or if he really had no idea.

“Shoes? You usually buy two of them”

I asked this patient to describe shoes to me. The first thing he thought of was that you “usually” buy two, but sometimes if only one is no good, I guess you only get one?

“I use it to shut my wife up.”

“What do you do with scotch tape?” This is the response i got from that question. Old people either love or hate each other. I rarely find anyone in the middle. I asked this guy what he does with scotch tape and he responds with, “I use it to put over my wife’s mouth to shut her up.” 50 years of marriage has its intricacies I guess.

“My dick”

This was an answer to one of my questions. I don’t know if there was a mix up or if maybe in his world, he was right. But, I asked him, “what do you hold in the rain?” and he told me “my dick.” So, apparently he holds his dick in the rain. This guy talks about his dick a bit too much.

“War is when two countries get together and fight each other.”

This simplified version of war seems to be a little bit too similar to how people get together to play poker. But he has a point. “How would you describe war?” Just when two people get together to kill each other. Pretty honest definition if you ask me.

“If I’m bad it’s used as a whip.”

I wish that this was an example of me needing to call someone because they were getting abused. I really do. Because when an 80 year old patient looks at me coyly and says, “If I’m a bad girl it can be used as a whip.” You just sort of lose desire to continue on with the day. But kudos to her for still having a good time with her mans, however they want to do it.

Here is the last and final quote that I’d like to share and honestly this one may be my favorite one of all time.

“I’ve shoved so much coke up my nose before, I don’t know why I can’t do THIS.”

This was said to me as I was trying to stick a scope up someone’s nose. She wasn’t sure why she couldn;t handle the scope when she knew damn well she stuffed enough coke up her nose in the 60’s 70s and 80s, to kill an elephant.

So, for some reason my patients continue to indulge me with these fantastic quotes. Some people might say I’m taking advantage of my patients by exploiting their quotes but fuck those people. If I couldn’t laugh about the morbid shit I deal with everyday, I would be a miserable prick to be around. Instead of that, here ya go folks. Here’s some Saturday morning reading material.



Where Everybody Knows Your Name

What is the number one thing you look for in a good bar? Not a nice place or anything, but just your regular bar where you can drink heavily and not get judged, or go for that nightcap before you head home. What does that place need? For me, the TV sitcom, Cheers, really nailed it. Where everybody knows your name. I just like going to a place where there are a few regulars that I know and they know me. The bartenders know me. Once in while you get a free shot or a heavy pour on the wine. Mostly, it is just about going and feeling like the people appreciate when you come by. I don’t want to feel like I felt in Cortland, like pigs at a trough.

I’ve been searching for that bar in Vegas since I’ve been here. I actually found it too. It was a little Italian restaurant. The bartenders were Ray, Angel, and Samantha. There were always regulars there, like Terrick and Ben. I loved going there. But then I moved across town. Now, I’m working on finding another one.

Marisa and I have been going to this bar called Remedy’s. In Vegas, almost all of the bars are franchises or chains. It sucks. Like I’ve mentioned before, this creates a lack of authenticity. But you get what you get and you don’t get upset. One of my supervisors from grad school told me that one. We deal and we go try to find good bartenders as opposed to cool places.

The first time we went, we go in and the bartender comes up to us and introduces himself, “Hey guys, I’m Steve-o, have you guys ever been here before?” He was super  excited and now, so was I. “He’s going to know our names!” I thought. We bullshit for a minute or two and then he says, “alright guys, round of shots on me!” Awesome. Tequila baby. Time to put our party pants on.

We leave Steve-o for the night and we head on home. Our bellies filled with shitty food and good tequila.

Later that week, we meet a girl at the dog park. We start talking to this girl about the bars we frequent and what not. We tell her we like Remedy’s. She says, “yeah we go there all of the time, but the bartender always forgets our names.” I wanted to tell the girl, “who the fuck are you though? Does Steve-o really need to remember your name specifically, or should he just know you’re a regular?” Honestly, she didn’t strike me as a regular at any bar. I would say twice a week is a regular, not once in a while. But I didn’t want to be mean to the girl, because “we’re trying to make friends” or whatever.

Fast forward to Saturday night, we finish up at a wine bar and head back to Remedy’s. We walk in and who do we see? Steve-o, tending the bar. We sit down and he comes over and we both say hi to him. What does he do? He introduces himself to us, “Hey guys I’m Steve-o, have you ever been here before?” Are you sure you aren’t fucking ten-second Tom? This was the 4th time I’ve met him and the 3rd time Marisa had met him. We don’t even answer his question before he says, “you know what, 1st rounds on me guys!”

I really wanted a place where everyone knows my name, but should I settle for this instead? A place where no one can remember my name, but we get free drinks because he constantly thinks its our first time at the bar. The fucked up part is every time he introduces himself, he repeats your names over and over again like he’s trying to imprint in his brain. How many Italians, let alone Vinnys are walking into this bar. Bald Vinnys,  to be exact.

What do you have to do in this town to make a friend. No one can even remember your fucking name, forget about being your friend. It’s impossible to even create a semblance of relationships with people, because they are so self-serving. I’m not saying I’m a selfless guy or anything, but from these blogs, you can obviously see that I love talking to people. Even if it may not be to make friends. Hearing people’s stories amaze me. For the most part, it seems like people have their heads so far up their ass, they taste their food twice. If people for one second would listen to what people said, instead of concentrating on what they were going to say about themselves, maybe they’d be a little happier. Steve-o is trying so hard to remember people, you can tell by the whole repeating names things. It’s just so sad how badly he fails. So people, moral of the story, head out of your ass and remember peoples names. Or just say fuck it and enjoy the warmth of your own ass because honestly, you’re the real heroes. You make this literary nightmare a possibility.

A Grown Ass Leprechaun

I went out for drinks with Marisa and Effie last night (Effie is our dog, in case you missed that). We were sitting outside, just relaxing, having a beer. Unfortunately, Effie attracts large amounts of unwanted attention. You’d think we would want people to come up to us, being that we have no friends. But, only wack jobs want to talk with us. Cue the St. Patrick’s day dressing Green Bay fan.

A man walks out of the bar and comes on to the patio He sits down at the table next us. This was a grown ass man wearing a Brett Favre jersey, a Green Bay hat, St. Patrick’s day beads around his neck, and cargo shorts on a Wednesday night before football season has even started. The only time a grown man should be wearing a football jersey, is if he is sitting in front of the television, watching his team play. Sitting with his back turned to us, Mr. Irish keeps dragging his cigarette, turning his head and looking at Effie. As hard as I was trying to ignore him, because of how drunk he was, it was inevitable. He turned his chair around and through his red, glassy eyes, you could sense his absolute misery and need to talk to someone.

After he hit us with a few questions about the dog, his boyfriend came out to the table. The only reason I mention this is because it seemed like they were a sitcom-like couple. Here, you had this tall, Irish, drunk, chain smoking cigarettes, and his much smaller and stouter, much older, Hispanic boyfriend. They were going back and forth, just digging at each other. The banter was pretty funny.

They start telling us how they want another dog and that they had a chocolate lab. We didn’t ask what happened to the dog, but as you can bet, we got the full story… with extras. He tells us about how it was the cutest and most loyal dog ever. You know, the basic story everyone gives about their dead dog.

Smokey McGee says, “we took her to Lake Havasu all the time and she loved the water.” For context, Lake Havasu is a man-made lake dug out of the Colorado River where college kids from the desert party during Spring Break. “We played with the dog all day in the water and she ate too many bugs,” Connor McJerkoff tells us. Why would you play with the dog all day in the water, if it was continuously eating bugs? Also, where could this possibly be going? He informs us, “She got really sick from eating the bugs and we tried to rush her to the hospital, but we didn’t make it in time. So, she died in my arms.” Okay man, enough with the sob story, nobody asked for this shit. The kicker is, he tells us, “yea, um, so we buried her in the river.” You buried your dog in a river? Or did you throw your dead dog in the river like a frickin serial killer? Let me know how you bury a dog in a river. He says, “We buried her in the river because that’s the last place she had fun.” Yeah, or was it just the most convenient place for you to toss your dead animal, so you didn’t have to cart her back across the desert to Las Vegas in your car for 2 and half hours. Maybe I’m just a skeptic or a cynic, but I didn’t see Patches O’Douchebag really catching feelings for a dog. Seemed more of the kind of guy who would have a shirt that said, “I’d rather be doing heroin.”

Finally, the guys walk back in to the bar and on the way in the Jerk MaGurk gives his boyfriend a nice smack on the ass. Marisa and I immediately start laughing as soon as the bar doors close. I say, “I can’t wait to get home and write about this.”

Not more than two minutes later, the jolly green idiot walks out holding hands with a girl. They walk away and Marisa and I look at each other thinking, “wait a second.” Another minute later, his boyfriend walks out holding hands with a girl as well. I was absolutely flabbergasted. Maybe I was wrong from the beginning, which is very much so a possibility. I don’t know if this makes me judgmental or not. I guess if I was wrong it would make me judgmental, but I’m pretty sure I was right. Marisa agreed with me but who really knows I guess. I think there is definitely a secret relationship going on, well, at least I hope there is. I’ll definitely be going back to find out. Either way, this is the best kept secret I’ve ever seen, because I’m not sure if this leprechaun is hiding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow or if he’s hiding the whole damn rainbow right in front of her.

A Little Wining and Dining

Have you ever left a restaurant and thought “God, I wish I cared enough to write a yelp comment.” Well, here’s my yelp comment and yes I did post this exact post to their yelp. Mostly, because I really was upset, but also, this shit was the worst example of an “Italian” restaurant I’ve ever been to.

The hours of your restaurant, Prosecco, are 11AM until 10PM. We walked in at 8. Anyone see a problem with this? I didn’t. There were still 3 groups in the restaurant when we got there, but they left by the time we ordered a bottle of wine. We went out for a simple glass of wine and some meat and cheese. I rolled my eyes more times than pieces of “cheese” they gave us.

We ordered a bottle of Merlot. Working in a few restaurants, especially two finer dining restaurants, I learned a lot about how to present a bottle of wine. This bartender tried really, really, hard. She failed miserably, which is fine because who really gives a shit how they present the bottle of wine. The point was she tried, but she obviously wasn’t taught.

The biggest fail was when she told me what the bottle of wine was called and pronounced the ‘t’ at the end of Merlot. The other parts of presenting the bottle I can get over. Trust me, I buy a big bottle of barefoot just like the rest of you poor shmucks. But I also know what a good glass of wine tastes like.

Don’t pronounce the ‘t’ though. No matter what. Never say that. I don’t blame this poor idiot, I really don’t. I understand that people just aren’t taught things that I’m taught. I don’t know anything about accounting, but my friend Danny knows plenty about it. He has never taken the time to teach me all of his accounting knowledge. If I was to work for his accounting firm, he would at least show me something about accounting. He wouldn’t let me work there, if I couldn’t do math.

Why didn’t the person who hired this girl, teach her anything about Italian food or wine. After the wine, we wanted to order the meat and cheese plate. I wanted to know what meat and cheese was on the plate so I asked. She told me it was all pork. I understand that Italian meats are made from pork sweetheart, so I asked “what kinds of pork?” She says, “Well, I’d have to go ask.” I answered, “Well, can you go ask?” She walks away and goes to the kitchen and comes back and tells me, “it’s um, cappycoley, brojuto, and mortadella.” She actually said mortadella right. The other ones, I was literally laughing to my girlfriend. Hence, the many eye rolls.

When the meat and cheese came out, Marisa and I actually enjoyed the prosciutto, but the rest of the meat looked like fucking bologna. I love a good bologna sangwich with mayonnaise, but not when I order a 15 dollar meat and cheese plate.

Oh, but it wasn’t actually 15 dollars. Apparently, in the description of the meat and cheese, it said “minimum of 2” and that means that it cost twice as much as the price listed. I thought this was quite funny because by the end of this hideous meal, it was just an added bonus. I asked the bartender, “why is the meat and cheese platter twice what the menu said?” because at this point, I knew I’d be writing this blog.

She walked over to the owner or manager, standing with the rest of the staff, who were clearly waiting for us to leave, even though it was only 9:15, 45 minutes before closing. After talking to him she came back over and told us it is 15 dollars per person, I said “ok,” and again rolled my eyes and laughed. We paid the bill and left. Even though the 5 staff members all said goodnight to us I refused to answer. I would not give them the satisfaction of their sarcastic goodbyes any attention. So, Prosecco, go fuck yourself and your shitty cappycoley.





Sirius Radio

My Sirius radio subscription expired on Friday and they charged my credit card $216. I love Sirius radio. Well, actually I love Howard Stern. The rest of the stations I couldn’t really give a shit about. I decided that I can’t afford to listen to the radio for that type of money. I gave Sirius a call to see if I could either get a better price or if not, to cancel the account.

I get on the phone with this gentleman with a very thick accent. Not that there’s anything wrong with that… I decided I was in the mood for a little hardball. I was ready for a solid argument. I get on the phone and tell him I want to cancel the account. Naturally, they want you to rejoin the subscription. There must be some type of incentive for them to sign you up. The man says, “May I ask why you’re cancelling, sir?” I wanted to start off as nicely as possible, I respond, “of course you can ask me why I’m cancelling.” Then I sat there in silence, waiting for him to ask me again, why I was cancelling. The first round of chicken in these sorts of conversations.

Finally, he budges after about 15 seconds of awkward silence. He asks again, “why are you cancelling your account sir?” I said, “to be honest the service isn’t worth $216 for the year. I only listen to one station.” Which to be honest it really isn’t worth it for me. My drive to work is 3 minutes long. I listen to Howard for about 5 minutes before I walk into work, and I don’t want to pay that much money for that. I can sit in silence instead.

He then proceeds to tell me that I paid the same price the year before and asks me, “why was the service worth it last year?” Very good tactic my call center friend. Use logic, if I paid for it once, I’ll pay for it again. Not today sir, not today. Last time, they charged my credit card and I didn’t realize until a month later.  But I wasn’t going to admit that level of stupidity, especially, to this man answering phones to argue with people for a living. Although, I feel like I could be very good at his job. I explained to him, in a way that makes no logical sense, that last year it was worth it. This year it is not.

He didn’t seem to understand so I cut to the chase. No more games. No more “Mr. Nice Guy.” I say, “listen sir, I’m not going to explain to you why I paid what I paid last year. I’ll pay $100 for the year and that’s as much as I will pay.” He pretended to sound very caught off guard and says, “Sir, that, uh, is a very exquisite price.” I inform him, “Well, ‘sir’, I’m a very exquisite guy.” I get my very first laugh out of him. Score: Vinny – 1, Human Answering Machine – 0.

I know that this guy has a price that he can sell the service to me. You have to play the waiting game though, right? He now says, “sir, I’m going to put you on hold. I have to talk to my manager.” He puts me on hold for like 5 minutes which I can only imagine that he got up from his cubicle to go take a shit. This tactic is the idea that if I wait long enough I’ll run out of time to negotiate and will have to accept his price. Little does he know, I set up a specific hour to have this conversation. He returns to the phone and gives me another offer. $118. Not the price we asked for.

I say to the man, “hear me out, I understand you’re selling a product and if you don’t want to give it to me at that price I understand, but I’m not negotiating I’m telling you the highest we’re going today is $100.” Now he wants to be a smart-ass. He says, “do you want me to pay your taxes and fees on it?”

It’s amazing what these jerk-offs will say to you to try to sell it to you. I say, “my friend, I wouldn’t expect you to pay my taxes and fees. Lower the price to $87 and I’ll pay the taxes and fees and it will come out to $100.” He starts explaining how taxes work now and I had to quickly cut him off.  I say thanks, but no thanks and I try to hang up. Then he asks, “what about $36 for 6 months?”

Really man. I had to be on the phone with you for 35 minutes to figure that one out? You wanted to charge me 6 times the price. Granted it was for a year, rather than 6 months. So 3 times the price overall, if we’re counting by month.

But in the long run Sirius is losing money on this deal. He could’ve gave me the year for $100 and they would make $50 every 6 months. Maybe they are relying on the idea that in 6 months, I’ll forget again. But I won’t. I gave him a credit card and only authorized a one-time payment. Now they are only making $36 for 6 months. Capitalism is really something these days.

Nothing is a fixed price though. Always remember that everything is negotiable. Fight for what you want. Even if it is just a talk show host for 5 minutes in the morning. Stay tuned because I’m going to attempt this tactic in the supermarket soon. $2 for an avocado? Sorry, I’ll take the five finger discount.


365 Days of Working with the Elderly

So, I have been working at the same facility as a Speech Pathologist for a year now. It has been quite a year, as many of you have read from my previous blogs. In honor of closing in on a year, here are some quotes from my patients.

“My great, great, grandparents were slaves in Lithuania”

Now, to understand this one, you really have to understand the context of the conversation… there was none. I swear that this man just told me this piece of information as if he was telling me what he had for breakfast before he showed up. This is what amazes me about my job. People will tell me anything. So naturally, I ask as few questions as possible.

“I wish they had smaller cups in restaurants”

I wrote about this one in an earlier blog. Why the fuck should they shrink the size of the glass for you? This one still amazes me. We’re going to shrink the glasses so that you can take the exact number of sips and not have any leftover water. Its alright lady, the fish will survive. Stay hydrated out there.

“I’m going home to hopefully have a sexual rendezvous with my wife”

To be honest, I don’t remember who said this. I write all these quotes down in my notebooks, but I don’t put names next to the quotes. Figure I owe these people at least that. They are paying my salary. But whatever, kudos to this man still getting it on.

“I’m 70 years old and I’ve never told a lie, I’m a girl scout”

The funny part about this one is I’m pretty positive she’s not lying. She literally is a girl scout. She’s queen of the goody-two shoes. I don’t want to say how old she is, but that’s one hell of a long run of telling the truth.

“How’s your hearing?” “what did you say?”

I’m sitting in the office with my patient and his wife. His wife is complaining that he can’t hear her. This patient starts arguing saying that his hearing is fine. I interrupt him and ask, “how’s your hearing?” He answered, “what did you say?” Classic mix-up.

“Did you have nookie?”

My girl scout patient asked me this when I told her my girlfriend was in town. She was literally smiling and giggling like a school girl.

“Yesterday they had free wine at the club house, I went down and drank a whole bottle.”

This guy had wine stains on his shirt while spewing this. So, I’m fairly certain he crushed that bottle of wine.

“Oh look, I’m bleeding”

Several of patients have said this to me. The most recent occurrence, the guy wiped it off his arm and then shook my hand. Like what the fuck is that, guy. At least don’t wipe it on me. How am I supposed to straight face you until you leave? Get the fuck out of here.

“I shook hands with Donald Trump at a house party in the hamptons 40 years ago…Douche”

This guy is my favorite patient. Always ruthless. That’s the thing I have in common with old people. I say literally whatever my brain is thinking.

“Mr. Vincent, what’s that thing on your forehead”

So, two things wrong here. First off, several patients asked me this one day when I had a giant pimple on my forehead. What the fuck do you think it is? Second, why do people call me Mr. Vincent. Does that even make sense? I introduce myself as Vincent. Why would I want to be called Mr. Vincent?

“I go dancing 3 times a week, this one woman, she really likes to dance right on top of me”

This guy is just the happiest guy in the world. It’s unreal that someone can be that happy after being on this earth for that long. That sounds super cynical, but it is interesting when you find someone who isn’t bitter.

“It’s my wife” as he shuts his flip phone shut and doesn’t give a fuck

His phone starts ringing in the middle of the session and he reaches in his pocket to grab it. He opens it up, looks at it, and sees it’s his wife. He looks up at me and says, “it’s my wife” and shuts the flip phone. 50 years of marriage and the guy is still a fuckboy. The flip phone made this so much better.

“My son is a fat fuck”

This lady was explaining why she was late for her session. Savage mom.

“It’s always good to be a tad bad”

She was responding to me when I told her to have a good weekend. She always tells me to not be too good, because I won’t have any fun.

“Pretty good, although its hard being pretty and good”

Every morning I would ask him how he was doing. This would be his response. Everyday he would laugh at this, as if he had just come up with the greatest joke on earth. He left the clinic for about a year and then came back. I asked him how he had been this year. Guess what this guy’s response was.

And here are a couple more that are all very similar, but very mean.

“You must really hate your job,”

No, I don’t but thanks.

“You must get pretty bored doing this,”

Doesn’t everyone get bored at their job? I have to be excited about listening to the same story you told me 20 times already? Sorry, not today.

“Do you even like doing this,”

Well, I’m fucking sitting here talking to you, aren’t I?

And my very favorite, “What are your going to do after you’re a speech teacher?”

After I’m a speech teacher? This is it man. You’re looking at it. There isn’t an after. I didn’t just walk in here and apply like it was a McDonald’s. He thought this was like my summer job. I’m not saying its brain surgery but I did have to show up to class and get a degree.  

So here we are, one year in Vegas this coming Tuesday. I sit and think sometimes about where I’m going to keep finding things to write about. But all I have to do is sit there and wait. Because remember, if you look hard enough, you’ll find an idiot in everyone.


People of the Streets

So, recently I visited the city of San Francisco, old Saint Frankie, if you will. It was only an hour flight from Vegas so I figured why not. I landed on a Friday night and I was basically planning on just exploring the city. Well let me tell you about the homeless people in San Francisco. Its a real problem. They’re everywhere. I’m not sure if San Francisco is working to fix this problem but they’re a day late and a dollar short. You can’t walk anywhere without people yelling at you, casually trying to bump into you, or just eerily staring at you like they’d eat you. Where the fuck did all of these people come from anyway. Do they just know that this is where homeless people all come to live? Is there some sort of homeless people online chat where they all tell each other where the best places to live are? Possibly coming soon “homeless tinder.”

I understand that San Francisco is probably a great place for a homeless person to live. The weather seemed mild and the people even milder. No one seems to care about what anyone else is doing, which is great on one hand, because you know social equality and what not. Which just to be clear, I’m not shit talking social equality. I’m shit talking the clear lack of care that the streets you live on are filled with people living in tents. Nobody cares and people are constantly giving them money. There are so many of them, how can people afford to just give away all their money to the homeless? Its unreal.

Unfortunately, I had a lot of different questions answered that I didn’t really even need to know the answer to. First off, homeless people do not have to abide by the same laws as everyone else. They can yell slurs and deal drugs right out in the open and everyone ignores it like its two pigeons squawking over a piece of bread. I asked someone what they do living here with all these homeless people, and he said, “Well everyone just ignores it, its not really a problem.” JUST BECAUSE YOU IGNORE IT, DOESN’T MEAN ITS NOT A PROBLEM GUY. Its a real problem.

Second, the social activists who are also running rampant throughout San Francisco are just as bad as the homeless people, if not worse. The homeless people will ask for money. That’s fine I get that. I can keep walking and basically ignore anyone. The social activists are clean normal looking people and when one of them asked to talked to me, I obliged. She told me all about how I can help and be a part of their cause to which I answered  “Hell yeah, what can I do to help?” To which she responded, “give me some money.” Everyone up there wants money. This girl didn’t make it easy for me to walk away. She made me feel bad that I have all this money hoarded away that I’m keeping from the refugees. Little does she know, I’m a college graduate with just a bit of debt piled up. She wants me to donate 2 dollars a day. 2 dollars a day?! I gave up coffee because I couldn’t afford 2 dollars a day. You want my help planning something, I’m in. But I’m no fucking philanthropist. I asked her how much money she was donating and that was when she realized she wasn’t getting any money from me. So just like the homeless people, she grumbled and trudged away.

Third and finally, I learned that everyone has to wipe after they go to the bathroom. Even the homeless people. Even if that means wiping right in front of a public garbage pail. The first guy I saw, pants around his ankles, awkwardly squatting with his knees bending outwards, wiping back-to-front with a newspaper, I swear I tried to look away. I tried not to look back but it was just too bizarre not to. I literally felt like I was in bizarro world. A twilight zone where the rules for bathrooms aren’t around anymore. Anyway, this guy and I made eye contact on about his third wipe and he became EXTREMELY angry. First, he kind of had that look in his eye, the one your dog has when he catches you watching him take a shit. But then rage filled his eyes. He literally started chasing after me while trying to pull his pants up. It was the scariest couple seconds of my life. He was calling me some terrible shit. Like you n***** and f*****. Not the ‘f’ word that I use either. I was just so flabbergasted. He was like, “GET OUT OF HEREE!” as if I just walked into the bathroom on him. Take it easy guy, this is a public fucking street you’re shitting on. Its not like I had to open a door to see this. I don’t care how homeless you are, you have to know that’s not my fault for seeing you wipe your own feces onto a newspaper. The worst part was, this was a busy-ish street, and not one person said anything to me. Not one person was concerned. So, I thought that was weird San Francisco. Like these fucks, will share their food, money, and drugs with the homeless people, but if ones chasing after a bald man, they all pretend like their blind to the world. So fuck that.

So,  San Francisco was overall “fun” as you can see. I would go back, not specifically for any of the aforementioned reasons, but you know sight seeing and good food. Oh yeah, my last night there, I saw another person, this time a woman, wiping her ass back-to-front. Big mistake lady. Get with the program.