Let’s provide the context, shall we? I live on a gentrified block next to a skeazy area of Sodom by the Sea. This is the compromise I made in order to be able to own my nicely renovated hovel rather than rent for considerably more $$$ per month. And, practically speaking, I put up with a lot of stuff that I could otherwise avoid. Sweeping other people’s trash from the 12 X 40 feet of concrete in front of my building is an almost daily occurrence. Scrubbing tags (graffiti) from our building? Yeah…almost monthly. Repainting? Just as often. I even have to chase the occasional addict from our stoop—guess we have particularly comfy concrete since people keep collapsing on it. But when some low-life decides to take a crap next to our tree, well that’s a little much!
Not that this doesn’t also happen occasionally. Sometime in the last decade, SF’s homeless decided that rather than use one of our cities rare public toilets, the whole city should be their toilet. But here’s what’s different. Our anonymous midnight crapper decided to build a lean-to over his doodie—out of a cigarette carton—a little pup-tent for his poop!
And what I don’t get is this: Why the f*ck would you try to hide a pile of your own excrement? Surely your Mom told you that society frowns on that whole taking a crap on the sidewalk thing? Well at least if you’re any older than the age of two…and hiding it isn’t going to make any difference. I mean, after a few hours in the sun the flies and the smell are gonna sort of…give it away! Right? Or perhaps it’s the condemnation of passers-by that you won’t be around to hear. “Look Mommy, someone left a doodie on the sidewalk.”
Oh well. Now I know what hoses are made for. Hope that guy who owns the Ford Edge doesn’t look under his car.