Campsters Amock: Day 3
12 February 2008 - 02:10, jfred decker said
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Day Three: He’s Still There!
(If you want to get some context regarding the campster and the campsite – herein called “The Sweet Spot” – first look at these pictures of the camp site, then continue below with “My Big Revelation”.
THE SWEET SPOT
This is The Sweet Spot campsite when approaching from the West along the cliff above the Lily Pond at sunset.
Yes, that grey thingie is the campster’s tent, still there with trash intact.
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This is the view North, down into the Lily Pond from the same position:
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This is the view South from The Sweet Spot:
Nice, eh?
See previous shots of The Sweet Spot, complete with the campster’s tent, here.
MY BIG REVELATION
I had a huge revelation today while pulling Cape Ivy above the Lily Pond. No, it wasn’t the still small voices of Oak and Camellia whose branches I was saving from a premature demise (though perhaps they contributed).
It was provoked by a couple asking for directions.
I was clearing ivy off a once-completely-covered, very beautiful, tree-sized Camellia and huge Oak branches overhanging the cliff above the Lily Pond. A young couple with an expensive-looking Bull Terrier approached along the path coming from The Sweet Spot campsite nearby (Read about Days 1-2 in the post: Campers Amock ).
“Where are the vagrants?” asked the stylish lumberjack-looking guy.
“It depends on what sort of vagrants you’re looking for,” replied I. “There are the Old Alkies, the Chronic Schizz’s, and… [voice darkening] the Meth Dealers.”
His eyes brightened at the mention of Meth Dealers. “What about…”
Now here he paused and did something very strange for a lumberjack-looking guy who has a statuesque girlfriend and expensive dog in train… he wiggled. I mean, he did a little eyelash-batting and torso-twisting ingratiation-thing like he was a six year old Bettie Boop.
”... Heroin?” he finished.
Now, Heroin is not something I ordinarily associate with lumberjack-like guys OR Bettie Boop – but what do I know? However, I do like to help people, especially lost tourists, because it makes me feel like a good Scout and it’s good for our local economy, no?
So they told me where they were parked and I directed them to Hippie Hill [across Sharon Meadow from the children’s Carousel, right?]. I’m very good at giving directions, and they left happy. Gosh, San Francisco’s tourism biz just received a boost, right? But, wait, I don’t use recreational drugs any longer, nor do I approve of their sale or use in Golden Gate Park.
SO, what gives with me? And, you may ask, what was The Big Revelation?
Well, I had noticed they had just come from The Sweet Spot campsite 50 yards away, and that he asked for “vagrants”.
Vagrants? Hmmm. That’s clearly current slang for “drug-dealing, pseudo-gypsies”. These nicely dressed 20-somethings have chosen Lives of Grand Adventure! And, heck, they just may have Daddy’s pocketbook to bail them out when they run into “complications”, so where’s the harm?
AWW, SO CUTE! They get to slum around in Golden Gate Park, SHITTING IN THE SAME IVY I AM PULLING AT THIS VERY MOMENT (and leaving countless hypodermic needles, too).
So, OK, here’s the revelation: they are not homeless. They call themselves “vagrants”, not “homeless”. It makes no sense to refer to these druggies by the term “homeless”.
And it gets, er, better.
Now I can see why the Park Patrol never quite throws “the campster,” his excellent doggie, and his very nice tent the heck out of that beautiful campsite.
Why?
Well, first, the Park Patrol officers said they refer everyone to homeless counselors.
How convenient!
And if them thar highly perfeshinul homeless counselor peoples ever do git their skinny behinds up yonder above the Lily Pond, they would say, “This am not an “homeless” dude, dude. This am an other kind of dude.”
How convenient!
So, if I say that San Francisco has effectively abandoned Golden Gate Park to drug dealers through bureaucratic sleight of hand, does it make sense to you? Does to me, and that’s My Big Revelation!
Wooo-Hooooo!
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