Dr. Bill

Outside the Fox Theatre
Taylor Street
The Tenderloin
Friday morning

***

The End of the World

I’ve been sitting here at Mel’s watching the couple at the other table for almost an hour now and neither has said as much as one word to the other. They just sit there drinking their coffee. I can’t tell. Can’t tell if they are so much in love and know each other so well that they don’t need to converse anymore; or if they hate each other’s guts; or, and I’d place my bet on this one – That they no longer have anything to say to each other and they’re just each other’s habits now. Worse yet is that they probably don’t know that the world is going to end in three years.

I was getting out of the cab on Broadway when he turned around and handed me some papers on Jesus that for some reason he thought I’d actually be interested in. The cabbie tells me that according to his calculations the end of the world is coming in 2013. “What month?” I ask. “I dunno, maybe September.” “Maybe?” I asked, “Why hedge your bets now?” “Hey what the fuck is a few months either way,” he replied. “Right now I still gotta go to work tomorrow, and the day after that.” I wondered, given this new information, if that was necessarily true. I gave him a three-dollar tip and asked “So what do you think this will be worth in 2013?” He looked away and drove off, unsatisfied with either my tip or my question or both. Hell if I care – I’ve got better things to worry about in the three years I’ve got left.

So with my newfound perspective I go inside and hit the computer. No, I mean literally. I punched the damn thing and almost broke my hand. It kept asking me if I wanted to reboot, and I clicked no, and it kept asking me, so I clicked yes, then no, then yes, but it kept doing the same thing so I finally ended it with a “Reboot this, asshole!” Boy, I showed that baby, didn’t I? Now who’s boss? Mr. I-don’t-have-a-computer-anymore-cuz-like-a-fucking-idiot-I-punched-mine-to-smithereens, that’s who’s boss. I panic. What am I going to do without a computer? But then I thought well with the end of the world coming and all maybe it didn’t matter so much. I went for a drive instead.

I parked at Fisherman’s Wharf and took in the sea air and the music leaking out from Lou’s Blues Club with no one around me. Just how I like it. That’s how I want it to be in “I-dunno-maybe-September,” 2013.

How did I ever become a psychologist anyway? When I was a kid I had no friends to speak of – They left me alone because they couldn’t figure me out. But here’s the thing: The same kids who kicked my ass in gym class would come up to me later when their friends weren’t around and tell me their problems. Don’t ask me why – It’s not like I ever reached out to them or welcomed them in any way. But for some reason I was a magnet for people with problems, people wanting advice, or just an ear. So I listened: Guys with girl problems, girls with guy problems. The fact that I couldn’t get a date to save my life didn’t seem to matter.

Nowadays I’m pretty good at putting the kebosh on that when I’m not working. I mean, hey, do you enjoy working on your time off? I try to avoid even telling people what I do. Inevitably someone will start telling me their problems, not as a friend, which I wouldn’t mind, but as a self-entitled consumer looking for free services. More frequently, and I just love this, are the ones who nervously ask some variation of “So are you analyzing me now?” Ok, you got me. You, in just a few seconds, have enraptured me to the point where I can barely hold back from delving into your psyche, fathoming your deepest motives, because I love working on my free time and because you are so special, unique and fascinating. Look folks, the truth is that I am naturally pretty basic in my social relationships. I stay present and interact and I don’t try to figure anybody out. I can’t even figure my own self out, so don’t worry, ok?

I got out of the car, walked toward some hip-hop coming from a corner bar and listened for awhile, watching the pretty people come and go. I love watching drunk girls walk around in high heels. They look funny. You can’t be drunk, wear 6” spikes and look sexy, but you sure can look funny.

I drove out to Chrissy Field where I just sat looking at the sky listening to Puccini’s La Rondine, my first opera. Celestial. My eyes closed.

La Rondine is an unusual opera in that nobody dies. At least until 2013, I imagine. After the second act I shifted into gear and went home. I found this 70’s movie on TV about mutant freaks who take over the world and the cops who kill them. Is that how it’s gonna be?

It’s not that I don’t like interacting with people. I just prefer it on my own terms. Sometimes I’m asked to fax a report to the courthouse. Instead I have my morning espresso and walk to City Hall. San Francisco’s a small town so I usually run into one or two people that I know along the way. I pick up a newspaper (from the store, not the dispenser) and stop for breakfast: Eggs, bacon, but always fruit instead of potatoes. As I get closer to Civic Center I enjoy watching all the hustle and bustle: The self-appointed parking guides, the makeshift food trucks, the politicians, the lawyers – Especially those lady lawyers in their suits with their glasses on and their hair up. One time I ….Uhm, never mind. Then I go into the courthouse, hand in my report and chat for a few minutes with people I’ve known for years – face to face. We talk about our lives, families and travels. On the way out I stop and get a hot dog at that little stand in Civic Center Plaza and look at whatever protesters happen to be out that day.

That’s why I don’t own a fax machine or a cellphone.

So, having rendered myself cyberless, the next morning I took my coffee to the window instead of the computer desk and watched the boats sailing in and out of the bay. I thought about the day ahead, the work that was due last week, the people I didn’t want to have to deal with, the phone calls I didn’t want to return, having to shell out a lot of money for a new computer and how badly my hand hurt from punching out the old one.

But hey, what the hell, it’s not as if it’s the end of the world, right?

***

You can see a slideshow of Bill’s photo shoot here.

Bill’s blog: www.drbillsblog.com
His website: www.drbillperry.com.

Amanda

On Olive Street
The Tenderloin
Friday morning

***

I believe a lot of  ridiculous things.

I believe peanut butter is the best pancake topping. I believe in ghosts. I believe Elvis, who is more than likely dead now, faked his death to escape the pressure of celebrity.

I believe Britney Spears will do the same.

I believe in always wearing a bra in public. I believe you are never too old to skip down the street holding hands with a good friend. I believe it is entirely feasible Rachael Ray is the antichrist.

I believe soul mates don’t have to be romantic. I believe frequent naps are the basis of a happy life.

I believe in true love.

I believe in love at first sight.

I remember the first time I ever saw SF. My 7th grade class drove the 108 miles to see The Phantom of the Opera at the Orpheum Theater. While waiting for the bus to pick us up after the show a tranny hooker approached our group and solicited drugs boisterously, “Oh heeeeeyy, you guys are too young for the real stuff. Y’all want some extra strength Tylenol?” My predominately white suburbanite classmates huddled together in disgust while I told the tranny I preferred Robitussin. The tranny laughed and walked away. It was in that moment, when someone for the first time in my life understood my humor, I knew I had found something special….and it wasn’t a tranny hooker.

Like most great love stories, it took a long time, a well-timed epiphany soundtracked by a slow clap, and rock bottom sitting closely on the horizon for me to realize what I once glimpsed was my destiny. Almost eight years later I returned to SF to find my love at first sight still held its original passion. We both had aged, seen other people, done what we needed to do, and were ready to start our life together.

Just like every other relationship, SF and I have our ebbs and flows. Sometimes I walk out of my apartment and get so fed up with the crowds or disappointed in the homelessness. Other times I’ll have my breath taken away by the skyline when exiting Embarcadero station via escalator or be brought to tears from the overwhelming acceptance I see when two old men proudly make out in public.

SF doesn’t care what I eat, who I am, what I wear, or who I love. SF accepts me for my flaws and quirks as I do for it.

SF and I are in it for the long haul.

***

You can see a slideshow of Amanda’s photoshoot here.

Amanda’s blog is http://www.datingismiserable.com

You can follow her on twitter: http://www.twitter.com/amanda___c.

Dottie

In the middle of Jones Street
The Tenderloin
Friday afternoon

***

My adulthood so far has been…eventful.

I joined the Virginia Army National Guard right out of high school in 2000.

I was deployed on September 11 for homeland security.

At 21, I was in Iraq as a prison guard (No. Not there.)

At 23, I was engaged and living in Washington, DC. By then, I had worked in the Pentagon and was working at an anti-tobacco non-profit.

Right before my 25th birthday, I broke up with my fiance and had no clue what to do next in my life.  So I did the best thing ever:  go on a much needed vacation.

I went to San Francisco for a week to relax and unwind.  I left knowing that this is where I needed to be. The people were fantastic, the food was wonderful, and there was always something interesting going on.  I even hiked.  Dottie doesn’t hike.  But I loved it.  I kept telling myself towards the end of my visit, “This could be my everyday.”

I called my dad from baggage claim when I arrived back at DCA and let him know that I was thinking about moving to California.  He took it a lot better than expected…he just said that as long as I thought it out and as I long as I was happy, he would be happy.

Two months later, I packed up all of my clothes in two large cases and a duffle bag, and headed West.  This was the definition of a fresh start…moving away from my family, my friends and a job I loved.  But I was happy.

I’ve been in San Francisco for 2 1/2 years now.  I don’t think there is another city that is more perfect for me.

***

You can see a slideshow of Dottie’s photo shoot here.

Dottie’s website:  www.dottielouphotography.com
Her Etsy store:  dottiebobottie.etsy.com
Her Twitter:  @ohdottie

Luke

Colleen

St. Boniface
Golden Gate Avenue, The Tenderloin
Friday noon

***

I want to tell you about The Tenderloin. My version of the Tenderloin. The Tenderloin can be a rough place, but I see a lot of little miracles here every day. I certainly do not want to romanticize the difficult things that the people of the Tenderloin have to deal with. But, I have seen a lot of beauty here, a lot of kindness, I have seen heartbreak and I have seen joy.

I am the Advocacy Coordinator at St. Anthony Foundation. Once, after introducing myself as St. Anthony’s Advocacy Coordinator, I asked a group of high school aged volunteers if any of them knew what advocacy was. One young man raised his hand and said, “isn’t that when you, like, don’t have sex, or something?” I don’t know if he was thinking of “abstinence” or “celibacy” – he surely wasn’t thinking about advocacy.

Some people think of advocacy as “standing up for someone else.” It can be that. Sometimes, it is that. But I try to do advocacy so that I give people a chance to speak up for themselves. Shame is one of the most debilitating side effects of poverty. Some people are so ashamed of being poor, of being homeless, of having to eat in a soup kitchen, that they feel like they are somehow less than human just because they need help. The opportunity to get involved in advocacy, to stand up for yourself, to use your experience to help other people who may find themselves in your situation someday, is one of the most powerful ways to banish shame. I’m lucky to work for an organization that prioritizes providing direct services like meals, medical care, and shelter as well as working for social justice.

This year has been an especially difficult one for advocacy. Our city and state budgets are a mess, and health and social service programs are on the chopping block. Actually, these programs are on the chopping block every year, deficit or surplus, but this year, our state and city deficits are so large that we may actually see some permanent cuts to programs that really help to save people’s lives: drug treatment, welfare programs, child health, mental health, senior services, and homeless services. And, these cuts are coming at a time when more and more people need help.

One of the Governor’s staff people said this to me recently: “When times are tough, hearts must harden.” I’m sorry, but that sentiment just is not going to fly in the Tenderloin. What I see is that when times are tough, people are working even harder than ever to help each other out. City Hall and the Capitol really need to catch up to the Tenderloin in the heart-softening department.

One of the places in the Tenderloin that really makes my heart feel mushy is St. Boniface Church. During the day, the church opens its doors to people who simply need a safe place to be. The sound of the parishioners saying the rosary intermingles with the sound of snoring from the homeless folks asleep in the pews. Those snores are prayers, too: prayers of thanks for the sanctuary of the church, prayers of peace from those who have so little of it in their daily lives.

I could tell you stories from the Tenderloin that could make you cry. But I really see the Tenderloin as a place of resilience rather than a place of desperation. People who have been beaten down by life, who have faced challenges that seem insurmountable are here, pushing through every day, trying and trying to make it despite living through things that would make most of us give up. Please come visit us sometime, with your heart and your mind wide open. You’ll see things that break your heart, but I guarantee that you’ll also meet people who inspire you with their resilience and their spirit, despite the fact that they have nothing but the clothes on their backs and the strength in their hearts.

Ace

Somewhere on O’Farrell Street
The Tenderloin
Sunday morning

I have only lived in the Tenderloin for the past eight months. Before I came to the Tenderloin, I was homeless. I can’t think of anything worse in the world than being left behind in a vacant house by a family whom I thought loved me. One day they were feeding me. The next day, they were gone. Word on the street though was that there was this lady who lived on the block who would leave out food for all the stray cats in the neighborhood. I’m not one to beg, but times were rough. I was hungry. I was lonely.

I started coming by the nice lady’s house to eat. She would be nice enough to leave her garage open so I could use the litter box and have a warm place to sleep. I have never been much of an outdoor cat so spending time in her garage was very inviting. The more time I spent in this lady’s garage, the friendlier the lady got. She would sneak me in the house from time to time and cuddle me. I really like that. I love human attention and interaction and missed having it on a regular basis dearly.

One day, the friendly lady wrapped me up in a blanket and put me in a car. I have to admit, I was terrified. I had no idea where this lady was taking me. I enjoy being inside a warm house, but I don’t like being in cars. I meowed the whole way and it seemed like an eternity to get to our destination. Our destination was San Francisco’s Tenderloin district. This is the day I met my human mom, Kathleen, and would no longer be homeless.

Here in the Tenderloin, I was introduced to my very own apartment. I had really good food that never seemed to run out. I had three big windows that faced a big backyard where I got to watch birds fly and rats run. I had a big, fluffy couch to sleep in the sun all day. I had a bunch of toys and a huge cardboard scratcher to lie on and scratch. I even had my own litter box. Most importantly, I now had a human mom to cuddle with anytime I wanted to and a home to call my own.

I know that a lot of people who live here in the Tenderloin are either lost or come to die. I know. I can hear them screaming at each other all day long as I look out my window. But I came to the Tenderloin to live. Living the good life here in the Tenderloin has made all those scary nights of living on the streets without food, water or human loving attention all seem worth it now. I am proud to call the Tenderloin my home.

***