June 28, 2010

Awkward, stumbling mess

Typically these events would be rare enough that I could justify a single post per incidence. Unfortunately, I've been quite inappropriate lately in several back-to-back instances, so I think it's best to condense and combine. Let's get started then!

They All Look the Same When They're Slummin' It
I'm walking into work from the parking lot. I end up seeing a co-worker I haven't chatted with in a while, so we walk together to discuss games. As I'm in conversation, I'm not really paying attention. That's my excuse, but I'm not sure how well it holds.

Right about the point where the sidewalk splits -- left to go to the gym, straight to go to work -- we encounter an Asian female wearing gym shorts and a ratty t-shirt. I casually glance over and it's my right hand lead on my team, Mel. I'm feeling playful and silly, so I begin our interaction with a quip.

"Slummin' it today, Mel?" Oh man I'm so funny. Get it? I'm making fun of her clothes because if she were to go to work and not the gym she'd be slummin' it!

Before I did any of this, I probably should have asked myself why Mel was here at 8:30. You see, she normally doesn't show up until around 10.

Too bad I find out it's not Mel. How did I find out? The Asian female I have never seen before was giving me the "who are you" and "go to hell" looks. Simultaneously.

Career limiting and offensive!

Homeless Arousal
The girlfriend and I are walking home from dinner Friday night. The city is cold as always and insanely windy, so there aren't exactly a ton of people outside. We're 3 blocks from home at Geary and Divisadero walking up Geary. The street is abandoned and as such, I for some reason decide it's an entirely appropriate time to loudly use the word "erection" in conversation.

Don't ask me why. This is why I get myself in trouble.

Not 2 seconds after I utter this word a haggard, terrifying homeless man pops his head out of the small hole on the building we were walking next to. He's staring at me and with nowhere else to go I stare back.

"Seriously God?" I ask. "There's a homeless man in the concrete partition? Now?"

I didn't stop to discuss this topic at, ah hem, length and quickly began speed-walking home.

The Questionable Service Animal
I walk my dog every morning between 6:30 AM and 7:30 AM. We live in Lower Pac Heights around Filmore, which is covered in coffee shops and fellow dog walkers. I like to go to Peet's for coffee towards the middle of the walk and almost every day I encounter a French Bulldog owner with the same idea.

Despite the sign very visibly pasted to the doorway that says "No Dogs Allowed," the French Bulldog always heads in for coffee. I always feel terrible when I have to tie my puppy up outside, so the sense of jealousy was quite strong. Finally, some old lady just said "Oh, just take her in! That man took his dog inside."

So, the next time I did. And the time after that. Third time's the charm!

I walked into the counter and asked for a medium coffee. Like clockwork, the French Bulldog and his owner are at the cream/sugar station with a gaggle of ladies "oohing" and "ahhhing" the creature. He's a perfect ham. I've always though French Bulldogs were so ugly that they loop back around to intense cuteness.

Typically the clerk turns around and begins drawing the coffee. Not today!

"I have to ask, but is that a service dog?"

"Not at all!" I cheerfully scoff. It may be fair and accurate to say I chortled. "It's not like he's a service dog," I say, indicating my head towards the bat-eared Frenchie. At this point I feel my assumption is somewhat fair. Have you seen a French Bulldog? Or any bulldog? These creatures look so stupid I'm surprised they know how to breathe. It's the snorting that does them in. Intelligent creatures don't snort.

"Actually, he is a service dog," she responds.

"Oh?" I ask. I'm incredulous and my thick, pelty eyebrow has been raised to indicate my stance as such. "I've never seen a seeing-eye French Bulldog before."

Here's where my true, utter genius shines. Not only am I arguing with this woman over this, I'm making the assumption that there are only service dogs for the blind.

"He's not a seeing eye dog," she explains. "His owner takes him to the hospital to visit and cheer up the sick and dying. He brings joy to people who are ill."

Rock bottom, meet Grant. Grant, Rock bottom.

"Oh," I say. I feel like a huge asshole at this point. Now I'm on the defensive and she is not going to relent.

"So, I have to ask again. Is she a service animal." I look down at my wide-eyed dog. The only service she serves is to scare pigeons, I think because she believes they are sheep.

"No...no she's not. May I have my coffee and I won't do it again?" Like a scolded child I scamper out.

In the end though, I was wrong about my dog's lack of service. She totally made this senior citizen's day when she calmly let the old woman pet her. And then she totally drew in a tall blonde for me before the walk ended. If that's not a service I'm not sure what is!

A Foul Walk
In case you forgot this gem.

No comments: