15 + 27 points
Work is So Strange by Cakelyn
August 2nd, 2010 3:37 PM
I haven't been on SF0 for quite some time, and after visiting a friend/long term player and telling my local coffee shop girls about the game I thought I'd take a look to see what tasks were up for grabs.
This one in particular caught my eye, since working on Valencia Street I've encountered my share of strange happenings. So much so I've considered writing a book, starting a twitter feed, drawing a comic describing these encounters. The only question now is where to start?
I work at a boutique shop called Therapy between 16th and 17th on Valencia. Since it's so close to the BART station we have a multitude of different types of people coming and going.
With that being said, some of my strangest encounters have happened outside the shop whilest on my smoke break. Standing on the street by yourself with a flaming stick in your hands must mean "Talk to me! I will listen to you", because my job as a "retail therapist" has proven to hold true.
Once an older african american gentalmen told me the story of how his lady was refusing to talk to him because his brother had just been killed in a gang fight down in LA. He was upset because she wouldn't "do him" even though he had just given her 20 dollars, which he then immediately wanted back. As his story progressed, i learned he was not the least bit upset about his brother, but was more concerned because his girlfriend had locked him out of his apartment with his $20 which he needed for drugs. I then learned the female in question wasn't his girlfriend, but a lady of the evening.
Another more tragic encounter happened multiple times with an elderly woman who to this day remains nameless. The first time I met her I was sitting on a stoop enjoying my daily nail when I saw her walking towards me with a big grin on her face. She asked for change, but all I had to offer was a cigarette. Her arm was in a cast and she had a black eye, but seemed in good spirits.
As she lite up, she recognized a well dressed homosexual and his boyfriend and gave them each a big hug, while constantly thanking them and calling them her brothers. They gave her $4 (the exact amount she asked for) and went on their way. She explained to me that a few weeks ago she was in the Castro when a man asked her to give him a blow job. When she refused, he grabber her arm and broke it, and punched her in the face. He continued to kick and beat her while she was on the ground. She was saved by these two flamboyant pedestrians who not only fought off her attacker, but took her to the hospital and gave her money to get home.
I was touched by her story, but by that time my break was over and I started my get away. She gave me a big hug, repeatedly called me her sister, and walked slowly after me as I returned to work. As I was putting my stuff in the back she came into the store, lit cigarette and all to thank me again, but was kicked out by my boss, who told me not to bring my friends in anymore.
I met her a few times after that on that same block. She would call me her sister and tell me how much she loved me and I would spare what I could. The last time I saw her her face was bloody and her front teeth were missing, but she still sported that smile.
I have so many more stories, but I'll end on a quick happier note:
One thing you have to know to hear this story is that the owner of my store has a lot of friends. He's a great guy, and knows people from all walks of life. One of his friends is a short man who walks up and down Valencia street. He caries a blue guitar, has crazy long frazzled hair, and can usually be found walking behind people yelling at them for being "capitalists" or "dirty homos". Every few nights (sometimes every night), he visits our shop. However, by visits, I mean he pokes his head in the door and screams at the top of his lungs. Here is a breakdown of the interaction, which is exactly the same every time:
"IS DWAYNE HERE?!"
(he almost always isn't)
"KNOCK KNOCK"
no response
"WHO'S THERE?!'
the customers look around frazzled
"DWAYNE!"
"DWAYNE WHO!"
"DWAYNE THE BATHTUB, I'M DWOWNING! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Sometime he substitutes the last line for,
"DWAYNE'S YOUR BOSS!"
It used to scare my coworkers and I, but since he's never actually come in the store, and he always seems very light hearted about the joke, we now all partake, and answer with the appropriate lines for the joke, and usually end on a very sarcastic "HAHAHA", like a well rehearsed play. The customers usually all get quite and some get freaked out, but we explain that that's just Knock Knock (our loving nick name), and he's a good guy.
I recently found out the guitar he carries isn't just for show, and that he is actually an amazing guitar player who once jammed with the beatles, but for me, he'll always be Knock Knock.
Thus ends my retail tails. There are many more, and I'm sure many more to come.
This one in particular caught my eye, since working on Valencia Street I've encountered my share of strange happenings. So much so I've considered writing a book, starting a twitter feed, drawing a comic describing these encounters. The only question now is where to start?
I work at a boutique shop called Therapy between 16th and 17th on Valencia. Since it's so close to the BART station we have a multitude of different types of people coming and going.
With that being said, some of my strangest encounters have happened outside the shop whilest on my smoke break. Standing on the street by yourself with a flaming stick in your hands must mean "Talk to me! I will listen to you", because my job as a "retail therapist" has proven to hold true.
Once an older african american gentalmen told me the story of how his lady was refusing to talk to him because his brother had just been killed in a gang fight down in LA. He was upset because she wouldn't "do him" even though he had just given her 20 dollars, which he then immediately wanted back. As his story progressed, i learned he was not the least bit upset about his brother, but was more concerned because his girlfriend had locked him out of his apartment with his $20 which he needed for drugs. I then learned the female in question wasn't his girlfriend, but a lady of the evening.
Another more tragic encounter happened multiple times with an elderly woman who to this day remains nameless. The first time I met her I was sitting on a stoop enjoying my daily nail when I saw her walking towards me with a big grin on her face. She asked for change, but all I had to offer was a cigarette. Her arm was in a cast and she had a black eye, but seemed in good spirits.
As she lite up, she recognized a well dressed homosexual and his boyfriend and gave them each a big hug, while constantly thanking them and calling them her brothers. They gave her $4 (the exact amount she asked for) and went on their way. She explained to me that a few weeks ago she was in the Castro when a man asked her to give him a blow job. When she refused, he grabber her arm and broke it, and punched her in the face. He continued to kick and beat her while she was on the ground. She was saved by these two flamboyant pedestrians who not only fought off her attacker, but took her to the hospital and gave her money to get home.
I was touched by her story, but by that time my break was over and I started my get away. She gave me a big hug, repeatedly called me her sister, and walked slowly after me as I returned to work. As I was putting my stuff in the back she came into the store, lit cigarette and all to thank me again, but was kicked out by my boss, who told me not to bring my friends in anymore.
I met her a few times after that on that same block. She would call me her sister and tell me how much she loved me and I would spare what I could. The last time I saw her her face was bloody and her front teeth were missing, but she still sported that smile.
I have so many more stories, but I'll end on a quick happier note:
One thing you have to know to hear this story is that the owner of my store has a lot of friends. He's a great guy, and knows people from all walks of life. One of his friends is a short man who walks up and down Valencia street. He caries a blue guitar, has crazy long frazzled hair, and can usually be found walking behind people yelling at them for being "capitalists" or "dirty homos". Every few nights (sometimes every night), he visits our shop. However, by visits, I mean he pokes his head in the door and screams at the top of his lungs. Here is a breakdown of the interaction, which is exactly the same every time:
"IS DWAYNE HERE?!"
(he almost always isn't)
"KNOCK KNOCK"
no response
"WHO'S THERE?!'
the customers look around frazzled
"DWAYNE!"
"DWAYNE WHO!"
"DWAYNE THE BATHTUB, I'M DWOWNING! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Sometime he substitutes the last line for,
"DWAYNE'S YOUR BOSS!"
It used to scare my coworkers and I, but since he's never actually come in the store, and he always seems very light hearted about the joke, we now all partake, and answer with the appropriate lines for the joke, and usually end on a very sarcastic "HAHAHA", like a well rehearsed play. The customers usually all get quite and some get freaked out, but we explain that that's just Knock Knock (our loving nick name), and he's a good guy.
I recently found out the guitar he carries isn't just for show, and that he is actually an amazing guitar player who once jammed with the beatles, but for me, he'll always be Knock Knock.
Thus ends my retail tails. There are many more, and I'm sure many more to come.
