"If you're Not Perverted,

We'll Get You Converted " 

- By L'il Missy Ann Thropy

It's a shit job, I know, but what else could I get in 3 days?! Hell, it's Tuesday and I just got here Saturday night (on the night of the Summer Solstice & the 30-year anniversary of the Bummer of Love Fuck In). I feel pretty damn lucky. I also feel lucky for having gotten out of the hostel where I was spending &17/ a night to share quarters with 5 others. I managed to land a still less-than-desirable cubbyhole of a room in one of the weekly hotels on Broadway, which I can at least call my own for the moment. For $75 bucks a week, I ain't complaining. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and don't I know it! Hell, it's a door that locks. What more can I ask for?

Actually, it sucks hard, too. I hadn't been here for more than an hour before some crazy old lady attacked me when I declined to go back to her room with her. I was almost into the hall bathroom with the door behind me when suddenly she kicked the door in and screamed, "Next time I'll drag you there!" What th'? Hopefully I'll be moving out of here soon, too. One fucken day at a time.

I have got to find a reasonably cozy coffeehouse or something. For the moment I've taken refuge in a burrito at the taqueria down the block. I don't want to hang around the hotel for fear I'll have another encounter with the aforementioned schitz-case, henceforth to be known as "Face Of Evil (F.O.E.)". Also, I aim to minimize the waking hours I must spend listening to the half-dead guy, to be known hence as "the Coffin Man".

Working at the strip joint's been a trip. It's really not unlike a carnival freak show. The whole cast are characters and me, the "Barker". What an identity.

My room is hot & stuffy with one dank window which only opens a crack. The view’ is a dismal sight, opening upon a light well and facing two other units, one of which I suspect to be the Coffin Man's. Light filters down three floors to cast a gray glow into the room. More light is cast between the three rooms than via the light-chimney, as I discover when I head for bed. I've accepted that for all the natural light it offers (ha) I'd just as soon keep the blinds shut. I want nothing more than to lock the door, take off my clothes and lay in bed without anyone molesting me... I prefer not to invite the attention of my "neighbors" in this weird dump. I don't need that kind of exposure.

Still, as cloyingly hot as it's been, I'm grateful for the occasional musty gusts that creep through the slats just in time to revive me amidst the strangulating and otherwise all-pervasive staleness. So, whatever.

There is a hesher living across the hall. I can hear him rock outto AC/DC. Still no sign of "F.O.E.", knock wood!

I feel like I'm not even here & hope to keep it that way. No way, no eye contact, never.

She says to me, "Oh, you are sooo cute. I could never put on those little shorts and be so cute, like you" The sweetness in her voice didn't mask the unstable mind evidenced in her wild stare. My heart began to race! I HAD to pass her, I couldn't simply turn around now. Ignoring or avoiding her may provoke another attack, & I didn't want to know the depth ofher hostility, or madness. I walked further, closer, calming myself withthe thought that she was, after all, just a little old madwoman whom would be outmatched by me in a brawl. What she had in Buckwild, I surpassed in sober, alert dispassion, a young, strong body, & a clear, calm mind.She wasn't going to push me around."Oh STOP! You are absolutely adorable," I cooed reassuringly. "Oh, no. I'm old and ugly and you, you're just so small and pretty with such nice little legs, so young and cute…" (yeeiikks!!) "I wish I was like you..."

I don't know, but something in her shiny, obsidian eyes; was it a stare or a glare? It's so hard to tell. Was I just projecting my own paranoia? No, there was something, a desperation in her voice, which suggested a hair-trigger temper that could turn this dainty,fawning, sixty-something little lady into a rabid, homicidal maniac!! Oh, dear Gawd, get me out of this room & away from this FOE! Amen.

This Is NOT my San Francisco! Wherefore art thou, oh health food store? sidewalk café? deadbeat coffeehouse? 24 hour diner? Whaaa? Whaaa!

Okay, here's the plan: I'll stick it out in this shithole & shitjob for 2 months, long enough to save some scratch and scope out my alternatives. Let's face it, Sweetheart. A nice girl like you, weird tho’ ye may be, has no business in a place like this. Period.

Later, same night>>>

It really sucks that:

• I have to get naked and shower here at least every other day.
• I, who has so little, was the only one who would give the other waitress $5 measly bucks so she could get a room for the night. (God, was I gullible! She was junkie, Duh!)
• Those cheap ass dancers don't tip us out for cleaning up after them.
• That my nights & weekends are shot for the pursuit of the almighty dollar.
• I am "such a great Barker" that I consequently must spend 8 straight hours on my feet w/no break to sit down -ever.
• I've taken to showering on the fourth floor to avoid an unprepared run-in with FOE.

6/27/97>>>

Last night was kinda cool. This couple came by and stopped to ask me about the club. The man was holding a glass of red wine in his hand. I eyed the glass enviously & he invited me to taste it & guess which variety it was. I tasted & guessed correctly, natch - a pinot noir. Satisfied, he & his date went in the club, leaving the delicious varietal with moi. I was impressed, as it was actually in a proper red wine glass, which I also kept.

Oh, how I want to get out of this room! The cockroaches have taken over. They know better than I that this is not my place. It is theirs. They were cool with me the first week, but it seems clear that if I intend to stay beyond that, as I unfortunately must, I will not be leaving without them. Yep, they have begun the prompt process of co-opting my shit. They are in everything!! My bags, suitcases, notebooks, undie's and, YES, even my wine! Fucking Assholes! I don't dare take off my shoes for fear of missing an opportunity to kill the shits. But yet, the more I kill, the more seem to appear. How do I fight off this onslaught?! Aargh.

OHM MANI PADME AUM

AUM MANI PADME HUM

Epilogue

My living situation was brought to an appropriate conclusion when, halfway into my third week in that hellhole, there was a major fire in the hotel. Quick on the draw, I retrieved my shit, still packed, before the firehose's drenched everything, destroying that evil room in the process. I looked into the room one last time as the window and part of the roof collapsed in on it. It made me feel good.

I found a much nicer, cleaner, & cheaper room right around the corner some 15 minutes later.

I stayed at the Roaring Boar, often working 8 days solid, for the next four months. At that point, Tex - an imbecile of the Highest Order, was made General Manager. One of the first orders of business he took upon himself was to fire me, wholey without justification. There was no love lost.

One week later he was fired.

One month later he was fired from management at the dinky, indie club around the corner. He ended up Dj-ing at a club in Hawaii, but since moved back to the city. One can only imagine he was fired from that job, too.

I saw him around when his stupid wife started dancing at a club I was at. She was so stereotypical; the kind of bimbo who gives dancers a bad rap. After I left that club, one of my friends there told me "Bimbo" put their daughter up for adoption because "Jerk" didn't want the child and it was too much trouble for her to take care of, otherwise. Certainly, she's gone to a better place. Later, my friend emailed me to say that she saw the two of them on a "Divorce Court" TV show, fighting over money. At the risk of sounding vengeful, he got his just desserts. Sometimes Justice Hurts.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!