RODE TRICK TO SAN FRANCISCO, PART 4.

          If you’ve been reading the first 3 parts of my fateful Road Trip to San Francisco with my friend PG (Producer Gay) and his dirty shit-monster of a Trick, then I can only hope your stomach is rested up. I sure hadn’t prepared myself for such a trip. Two days in and I was ready to jump off a building, but at that point I still believed my friend PG was going to come through on all of his empty promises, so I continued to play nice with Trick – my newly confirmed best friend…

            As I left off in Part 3, our mismatched group had been touring ‘Badlands’, the last stop for most when venturing to SF’s gay Castro neighborhood in hopes of a liquor-based remedy for the day’s troubles. Trick had just professed his love for me, forging a life-long bond over my whiskey and the dance floor. Holding back the vomit in my mouth from his admission, I was unaware that we would be bonded forever – in stories… I threw back the last sip of my whiskey and fled for the door. A well-lit Marlboro Light 100 (because I’m classy that way) was needed to grace my lungs. Headed out the door for a puff, I hoped Trick would continue performing his half-hazard dance moves on the packed dance floor. Shortly after arriving outside, I found myself followed by Trick and his partner for the week, PG. Of course PG always had a place standing next to me, but I had wished for him to take his turn babysitting the mess that stood next to me. Why couldn’t he take him in the back and shit in his mouth? I couldn’t help but think this. Was that too much to ask?

            Trick stood way too close within my personal space and I was attempting to venture outside this pairing. Right to my person stood Trick, while to my left were two fellow gays sharing a conversation. They were carrying on with heavy accents and I decided to prompt myself into their speech. “What accent do I hear? How are you guys tonight?” As these two strangers looked over from their conversation to me, I realized I had spoken too soon. Before me stood two of the most tragic trolls I had set my eyes on since landing on the ground from our road trip of hell to San Francisco. The taller gentleman was balding and covered in sweat, clearly un-showered for days. As I would find out upon moving to SF, this is a common theme amongst many of its inhabitants. In that moment, I used my highest level of Los Angeles pretence to judge the smell emulating from his body. Today I probably have a bit of stench to my own person. (I have to fit in to this town, now don’t I…?) This taller gentleman named Adrienne explained that his accent was South African. I couldn’t help but think of the movie ‘Mean Girls’, where Lindsay Lohan is asked why she is “white” if she just moved from Africa. Making this reference with a giggle, I realized my joke fell on deaf ears. “You’re an ignorant fuck.” That’s what Adrienne had to say to me. All I could think is: “You have no idea…” Then, having forgotten there were two gays standing to the left of me, I heard a squealing noise. “I’m from the UK. Guess where…”

            I had to turn my glance a few inches lower to the ground to capture this creature within my wave of sight. There before me stood a hobbit of sorts. Standing no higher than five foot six – at best – and wearing an obnoxiously ugly cheetah-print t-shirt with jeans from the Baby Gap (I assume) was my new friend, the Keebler Elf. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a rainbow nearby with a pot of gold waiting for this little leprechaun. Unsure of what to say, I just stood there inhaling my cancer stick. “You didn’t guess. Where do you think my accent’s from?!” The Keebler Elf could not contain his question, begging me to respond. Really I was just making conversation to avoid Trick. I hate to sound like the bitch I am, but I really could have cared less.

 

            As I stood there frozen with my cigarette pursed against my lips, PG jumped in for the rescue, reminding me why I loved this man so much.

“I’m sorry to ruin your night, but Raanan ONLY likes big uncut tops. He’s a bottom. Keep it moving.” (You’ve got to love PG for his honest approach.)

“… I could be a top…”  

This was the Keebler Elf’s response from his spot standing below us. Unfortunately – at least in my world – it doesn’t work that way. I like tall, somewhat rugged Latinos, Middle Eastern, and Eastern European men with large uncircumcised members more often than not. We all have our types and the Keebler Elf was not mine.

For whatever reason of the night, this brought about a new group of conversation being had with PG, myself, Trick, and the Keebler Elf. His friend Adrienne still thought I was a racist for making a ‘Mean Girls’ reference. Realistically, as a gay man, I believe it is my responsibility to quote ‘Mean Girls’ verbatim, along with a list of other films including, but not limited to ‘Heathers’, ‘Death Becomes Her’, and every episode of the TV series ‘Golden Girls’. But I digress… As the four of us stood there chatting, PG began having a little fun with the Keebler Elf who kept repeating his interest in playing “top” for the night. I had zero interest, but he was a hella entertainment for our evening. Adding to the fun of my Jameson buzz, I began to fuck with the Keebler Elf – my favourite pastime. “That’s an awfully sharp Cheetah-print shirt you have on there…” I happen to be a sucker for a print and Cheetahs jump to the front of the line, but this shirt was Wal-Mart ugly. Honey Boo Boo would have returned this gift, even if it was filled with Ketchup. This grey, white, and black Cheetah-print was god-awful. As quickly as my half-assed Regina George (See ‘Mean Girls’) compliment fell out of my mouth, the Keebler Elf informed me: “I’m a snow leopard in this new top. I love it too!” Hearing his response, I couldn’t help but think a foot’s worth of snow would leave him unreachable, hidden by the flakes of frozen clumps.

A few more minutes into this conversation, my cigarette had burned to the filter, and I decided it was time to head back into ‘Badlands’. Walking back inside with PG and Trick, the Keebler Elf snow leopard followed like our little lap dog. The four of us danced and drank for another thirty minutes or so, before deciding to head elsewhere. PG really held reigns this trip and he had grown tired of ‘Badlands’. We decided to head over to another bar within the Castro, ‘Q-Bar’. Proceeding down the street, I couldn’t believe our new British friend was still in tow. As we approached ‘Q-Bar’, I began receiving a slew of nasty messages from a friend back East who was displeased with the Facebook postings of my trip. She was under the impression that this trip was intended to be business and occupation prospect-worthy and not a drinking tour. I was under similar impressions prior to the trip, but I knew PG was going to raise hell in the evenings, so there was no lie to my early forecast. As she began to berate me via text message, I grew upset. Drunkenly, I ran to the bathroom to engage in a ridiculous text message exchange where I was called a disappointment and shamed for my trip. Returning from the bathroom after a few minutes, I was overcome with upset and decided to head back to our hotel room, residing from the rest of our evening. PG was standing by the busy bar with a glass of whiskey waiting for me. Standing next to him was the Keebler Elf, while Trick appeared to be nowhere. Immediately I asked where Trick had disappeared to. PG explained that this mess of a third wheel had lost his wallet and was out on the streets of the Castro retracing his steps. I announced my decision to leave and PG pleaded with me to stay. Being drunk and feeling hurt by the nasty text messages I had received from back East, I had already made up my mind. PG, having fun as always, offered the Keebler Elf accompany me back to the hotel. “I’m okay, but thanks…” I replied. “No. Go with him,” PG insisted. My friend was having far too much fun playing with this confirmed Snow Leopard. Seeing as I was in a foreign city with little knowledge of my safety and surroundings at this past midnight hour, I agreed to allow his company. My thought process was that “two gays are safer than one” and should anyone come after us, my longer legs could outrun this British mess. 

I left ‘Q-Bar’ with my pocket-sized new friend. As we walked down Market Street, I took in the scenery. The Keebler Elf would not allow this walk to be pleasant for me. He began asking me, once again, where the origins of his accent might be from. Realistically, while I love accents, I can’t tell one British accent from the next. I’m not overly familiar with the different origins of place when attributing a UK accent. Not to sound ignorant, but they all sound the same to me. I’ve been told I have a “dirty Jersey” accent, but I don’t hear it, so go figure. The Keebler Elf continued: “Well, my accent sounds very ‘POSH’. I’m sure you think so. Everyone does. But, I didn’t grow up in the nicest place…” He continued to go on, stating his ‘posh’ accent as a deterrent in people discovering his place of origin. Overly proud of what he considered ‘posh’, this admission was on repeat for at least thirty minutes of walking. All I wanted to say was “I don’t give a fuck”, but we were walking through a dicey area of Market Street in SF and I needed the company. Continuing to walk down the street, hearing his proudness over an inconsequential ‘posh’ accent, I started to crave the lack of safety from my surroundings over the Keebler Elf’s company. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” I asked my walking buddy. Needless to say, he didn’t pick up on my tone. “I am a gentleman and I want to make sure you get home alright.” Agreeing to let him accompany me to the hotel lobby, I obliged his gentlemanly request. “Well, let’s get a cab then.”

As a cab driver approached, we hailed this rental ride and climbed into the back seat. I gave our hotel information and we were on our way. The Keebler Elf kept curling up to me and I couldn’t accept his bite-sized eagerness to molest me. I asked if he had any interest in grabbing a drunken slice of pizza. Living in Los Angeles for five years, it had been a proven truth that there is no good pizza in the land of Botox. San Francisco, a foodie town, has pizza to rival New York’s best. The Keebler Elf agreed to my request and we asked the cab driver to take us to the best pizza place within walking distance of my hotel. Within moments, we arrived outside a hole-in-the-wall pizza joint. Reaching for my wallet, the Keebler Elf paid the fare before I could touch my coins. “Don’t worry, I got it.” I explained that I had money and then he reiterated his gentleman qualities. Without any intent to lead him on, I wasn’t going to fight a free ride. Approaching this pizza place, it was quite obvious the vagrant nature of this restaurant, if you could call it that. We ordered a slice each and some sodas. Chewing away at this mediocre pizza, I was let down with the promise of good food from our unknowing cab driver. Biting into the cardboard slice of imitation pizza, the Keebler Elf continued to explain how ‘posh’ his accent was. I couldn’t help but fantasize about stabbing him in the face with my plastic fork or smothering him with a paper napkin. He didn’t let up. Seated there for ten minutes or so, all I wanted was for this protector of the rainbow’s gold to shut up.

Then, all of a sudden, a homeless man walked into the pizza joint and proceeded to order a slice. Distracted easily from the Keebler Elf’s repeated ‘posh’ accent conversation, I began to watch the dealings of this homeless man. As he was handed his slice, he proceeded to fork over money to the cashier. His money was not the typical form of coin, but rather monopoly money. Never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined such a scenario. All of a sudden, hell broke loose in the hole-in-the-wall food shop. The homeless man dialled his level of crazy to an absolute high, assuring this was real money. Seeing as his ten dollar bill was pink, he may not have been a credible source. Within a few minutes of escalating argument, the cashier gave up and offered the slice of pie for free. “Fine. I’ll keep my fucking money.”

Seated near the cashier, I was still enduring the Keebler Elf’s accent topic. He had missed the entire monopoly money exchange. To say this little creature lacked self-awareness would be way too far an understatement. Quickly after that exchange, the homeless man sat next to the Keebler Elf. As he began to chew into his slice of pizza, my endless soundboard of a conversation with the Keebler Elf continued. All of a sudden, the homeless man turned and tapped my company. “Where ya from, governor?” They began chatting in their British accents, something new to me as I hadn’t heard a touch of this dialect during the homeless man’s argument with the cashier. “You have a very ‘POSH’ accent, don’t you?!” As soon as the homeless man uttered these words, it became obvious to me that this was a joke. My new friend had no idea. This went on for a few minutes with the Keebler Elf seated in glee with a giant smile spreading across his face. He wanted anyone approaching to remark on his accent and here he had found just that. Mid-conversation, the homeless man broke out in hysterics, exclaiming “Dude, I’m just fucking with you. I’m from Boston, homey.” With that, the Keebler Elf turned beet red, further proving the possibility that he may in fact have been a leprechaun.

Shortly after this exchange, the two of us left the pizza place (if you could call that cardboard crap pizza) in search of my hotel. Along the walk back, I explained that I was tired and not looking to “hook up”. The Keebler Elf explained, “I’m a gentleman. I respect you.” These are the utter last words of a man trying to find his way into someone’s bed. Drunk and disinterested in a fight, I offered he could come up if he so wished, but that nothing would be happening. Again, he explained that he was a gentleman. Earlier in the night, this Brit had told me he was on vacation and would be leaving SF the following morning, so I figured this would be the last time we would see one another and agreed to this final goodbye. Walking into our hotel room, PG and Trick were already in bed, wondering what took us so long. I told them it was a long story that I would explain in the morning. Within moments of entering the room, the Keebler Elf removed all of his clothes revealing a very small pair of what appeared to be panties. He shed his wares faster than I could blink. PG quickly muttered: “Guess someone’s playing ‘top’ tonight…” No, that was not going to happen. We climbed into my bed in this shared hotel room and I created a quick divide by way of pillow. Throughout the night, every time the Keebler Elf so much as tried to touch me, I pushed him away and moved closer to the edge of the bed.  

The following morning, I was awoken to the musical auto-tune styling of Britney Spears’s ‘Work, Bitch” on blast as PG’s alarm kept sounding off. Hitting the snooze button continuously, PG forced this song into my brain throughout the morning. The entire time, I kept smelling the coarse morning breath of the Keebler Elf resting alongside me. By the final snooze, PG rose to get dressed. As I officially woke from my Britney slumber, I looked to the other side of my bed and saw only the Yorkie-sized mark left in the sheets from the Keebler Elf’s presence. Could it be true?! Was he gone? I motioned silently to PG, asking if my company had left. There was always the chance he had only retired to the bathroom. PG marked the room as clear of my snow leopard and I let out a huge sign. “Praise Oprah” I screamed, unknowingly waking Trick from his slumber. As PG began prepping for his final day of work, I began watching a TV program on my iPad. Within ten minutes or so, PG was gone for the day. Having zero interest in babysitting Trick that afternoon, I asked PG when he would be back from his conference via text message. PG informed me it was a shorter day and that he would be back by one pm. I decided to stay around the hotel all morning rather than venture out with Trick. While I watched my program, Trick retired to the bathroom for a morning shower. Two hour long television shows later, Trick came out from the bathroom in the prior night’s wares, looking no better washed up. I was used to this routine already. Trick declared his overwhelming hunger, offering to buy us room service for breakfast. PG had told me, prior to leaving, that Trick never recovered his wallet or its belongings, so this offer was clearly on my friend’s tab. Room service can be expensive and I wasn’t going to engage with this unless PG was present to order. Trick was relentless with his offers, so I agreed to a coffee and left it like that. Shortly after, I rose to take my own shower. As was the case the day prior, there were no towels left as an assortment of shit-stained white towels were broadcast across our shared bathroom. Calling the maid services for a new assortment of towels, I waited a while before taking my shower. Once the freshly washed cloths arrived, I finally had the chance to shower myself of the night before.

Returning to the room from my shower, I found two things. First, there was a buffet for fifteen spread across the room. Anything from pancakes to eggs to bagels were in front of me. Trick couldn’t decide what to eat, so he ordered several options on PG’s dime. Lovely. “Your coffee’s here, Raanan.” I could see that. There was coffee for me and a melting pot of a family for seven’s meal plan for a week before us. Clearly a meal for me would not have even slightly affected this insane bill that PG would discover upon leaving the following morning. The second finding of mine was the blasted TV. Similar to the loud musical styling on the drive up, Trick had turned the television to a screeching high with a serial killer’s story displayed across the screen. Getting dressed for the day, I couldn’t help but get sucked in to the unsettling story of a high-school aged sociopath that killed his best friend’s entire family in the middle of the night, one evening. This was horribly unsettling to watch at this early hour, but given Trick’s track record with scat-filled prostitution and arson background, this should not have been surprising. All of a sudden, I couldn’t help but think this was his story displayed on the TV. When the sombre and disturbing show came to a close, I pleaded with Trick to turn something less heavy on the TV. “Can we please watch something less upsetting? I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet.” At this point, Trick had consumed every bit of room service throughout our room. He agreed to find lighter programming and then set on a program about a vicious child molester who buried alive a poor child in his sister’s front yard across the street from the young girl’s parents home. This story was horrific, leading me to tears, thinking: “How was this better?!” I kept my thoughts to myself, however, nervous I may be buried outside my own family’s home by the hands of this Trick. A few more depressing programs later, with one hour of ‘Say Yes to the Dress’ (equally upsetting), PG arrived home ready for an afternoon of fun. His work commitments had come to a close and the rest of our time would be spent enjoying the city.

I was dressed and ready for the day, while Trick needed to re-shower. Throughout all of those hours of crime TV, never once did he think it was time to get ready. Given his two-hour stay in the bathroom earlier, I assumed he was dressed for the day, but this trip was questioning my abilities to perceive anything. In the meantime, PG and I had shared a conversation about the events of the night before. When the Keebler Elf and I had left ‘Q-Bar’, Trick was nowhere to be found, searching the streets of the Castro for his wallet. After we left, it seems he came back to ‘Q-Bar’ and began a long dispute with PG, deciding to take his own route back to the hotel. I felt terrible hearing this, because I never would have left my friend alone at a bar. Under the impression that Trick was going to spend the rest of their time together at the bar, I left PG. Now I felt bad for my friend who had brought us both on this trip. Trick was starting to really irritate the shit out of me. He was an ungrateful little shit, as far as I was concerned. To top this off, when PG arrived home (during my pizza outing), Trick was packing his belongings promising to leave for Los Angeles. How he would have gotten there with no wallet or money, I don’t know, but this added stress during PG’s work trip couldn’t have been helpful. I offered we just leave Trick, but PG was enjoying the torture of this chase. To each their own, I guess.

An hour-and-a-half after his shit-staining of our hotel bathroom, Trick was finally ready. We were going to grab a late brunch – just the three of us – and venture around the city. After discussing a few options, we settled back on the Castro, as it is the center of gay tourism in SF. The three of us settled into a cab and off we went. Our cab driver asked us for directions and I assisted, seeing as I knew the way. Between our chauffeur’s lack of knowledge pertaining to his own city and the shitty pizza place suggested by the cab driver the night before, I started to realize taxis in San Francisco seem to know nothing. Arriving in the Castro, we ventured to ‘Harvey’s’, a great place for a Bloody Mary. We were seated quickly, followed by a round of Bloody Marys for PG and I. Trick ordered a vodka concoction with Lemonade, i.e. sugar water and liquor. Following our liquid brunch, we walked the streets for a few minutes before PG decided he wanted his first tattoo. I had been talking about tattoos all week and my interest in obtaining my next one. PG had alluded to the option of buying me one, having never gotten one himself, so the idea of tattoos with my friend was exciting. After I did all the research needed to find a great place, we headed over to a trusted SF tattoo shop. Within moments of arriving, PG proved to be consistent. His promise of a tattoo was never a real possibility. I grew frustrated, feeling like I came along on a trip that was nothing what it first promised, babysitting, chauffeuring, and cleaning up shit. My financial abilities at the moment were limited, so purchasing my own tattoo was out of the question. After helping PG decide on a font for his first tattoo, Trick and I were left to wait for completion. Waiting outside, chain-smoking cigarettes, I became infuriated with this trip. I felt like a non-entity, holding my own pity party for myself. Calling back home to Los Angeles, I was motivated by my best friend to abstain from any further group activity that evening. It went without saying that I would be driving the long journey back the following day, so I wanted to spend my last day on my own. Following PG’s tattoo, he was very exhausted and somewhat anaemic, unable to handle the pain. In need of a nap, the three of us headed back to the hotel. 

While PG napped away the afternoon in our hotel room, I finished a pack of cigarettes outside the building, venting to friends over the phone. I was no longer going to babysit or be involved with this mess of a trip. Obvious to me by this point, there was no substance to the promise of a job back in Los Angeles or assistance with my book. We were supposed to go to a fancy dinner that evening, then a night out raging through the Castro. I wanted to have my own dinner and see a movie. This was going to be a trip about my fun going forward. Amidst my cigarette fuelled rant, Trick found me outside. He began voicing complaint against PG, wanting to just be friends. During the course of this trip, they hadn’t had sex once. Trick was no longer interested and despite my frustrations with PG, I couldn’t help but feel bad for my friend. He had brought this Trick with him in hopes of a week filled with dirty seed-filling sex. Instead, it was constant fighting and games with this mess. Despite my resigning from the night’s activities, I couldn’t help but want to care for my friend.  

Following PG’s nap, Trick decided to shower once again. I couldn’t help but feel bad for the maids in our hotel, watching him enter our bathroom. While he spent an irrational span of time in the bathroom, I brought PG up to date with Trick’s resignation, so as not to make my friend look like a fool. PG asked for private time in the room to address Trick and I obliged, stepping back outside for more puffs from my addiction. PG then began texting me, begging I attend dinner. Due to my having to pay my own way at brunch and my lack of purchased tattoo, I offered my lack of funds as an excuse. PG begged me to attend dinner, promising the night was on his dime. Having no excuses left and feeling bad for his current situation, I agreed. Shortly after that, he asked me to meet him in the hotel bar. It seems that while I was outside, Trick proceeded to have a chat with PG, declaring his hopes for only a friendship. He was nasty and unfriendly, posting a lot of blame on PG for his dirty tongue. Trick kept making claims to PG and I having foul mouths, speaking of sex at all turns. While this is very true when PG and I come together, the boy that shared the foulest of admissions with us within a few hours of meeting did not have much floor to stand on. PG was aggravated and annoyed, so we drank up at the hotel bar, talking trash about this gross Trick.

 

Within another hour’s time, Trick rolled out of the room and into the lobby ready for dinner. PG had made a reservation for the three of us at a high-end seafood restaurant in the Castro, known for their overly attractive male staff. Seated by a wonk-eyed host, followed by our Harvey Fierstein doppelganger of a waiter, this review of said restaurant was merely a myth. Thank god this restaurant was well reviewed on Zagat for its culinary talents, so we set in for a pleasant meal. Hearing the establishment’s specials, PG and I were taken with an heirloom tomato salad consisting of the finest ingredients. This salad was made up of heirloom tomatoes, romaine lettuce, feta cheese, and prosciutto. We opted to share this twenty dollar salad along with a tuna Carpaccio. I ordered a Chicken entrée while PG picked a fish meal. We each asked for a glass of wine along with our waters. Then came Trick’s turn to order. He first asked the waiter for strawberry lemonade. “I’m sorry, we don’t have that here.” Obviously. Trick then reformed his order. “I’ll have a lemonade then.” To which the waited replied, “I’m sorry, we don’t carry that either.” Trick was noticeably upset, but settled on a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. He then ordered a side of onion rings. I hadn’t even noticed those on this high-end menu, but Trick had. “Can you bring out hot sauce and a side of ranch with that?!” The waiter grew frustrated, considering the fine dining establishment we were in. Apologizing once again, he explained they did not carry Ranch dressing. Then Trick ordered “that salad you talked about with the cheese.” He ordered for his entrée the same salad PG and I had ordered as an appetizer for the table. The meal was strange as Trick was somewhat abstaining from conversation, noticeably annoyed by this restaurant’s lack of lemonade options and ranch dressing. When the entrees came to the table, Trick inhaled his onion rings, while we all ate. Then came time for him to consume his salad. He asked for extra feta cheese on the side, consuming every inch of cheese available to him, abstaining from the rest of his twenty dollar salad. When it came time for the plates to be cleared, trick sandwiched his cleaned plate of onion rings on top of his untouched salad. PG then asked him, “How was your salad?” Trick immediately replied, “Yummy!” In reality, we could have cleared twenty bucks off the bill offering a bowl of cheese instead. We were eating with a picky six year old that would have been happier at ‘McDonald’s’. 

Following dinner, I agreed to oblige PG to a night out seeing his discomfort with our tagalong. We continued our alcohol consumption for the night, jumping from bar to bar. By the time we hit ‘Badlands’ once again, we were all rather tipsy. Shortly after entering this bar, we moved our way over to the dance floor. Enjoying my time with PG, Trick was now the non-entity in the corner. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, my Keebler Elf shown himself. Embracing me with a hug, my drunken response was not well-thought. “I thought you had left town already. Why are you here?” I didn’t utter these words nastily, but more in a level of shock seeing my strange bed partner with the ‘posh’ accent. As the four of us continued to dance, I couldn’t help but try to avoid the Keebler Elf’s glance. Then I noticed Trick whisper something into his ear and without a goodbye, the Keebler Elf stormed away in tears. I asked Trick what he said and he proudly explained: “I told him you didn’t like him and that he was an ugly ass fucking troll. He needed to be told the truth!” I stood there in shock, horrified by his admission. While there was major truth to this, and while I may be a bitch, I would never set out to hurt someone like this. There are many levels of bitchery, but this was plain nasty. I couldn’t handle Trick any longer. Within a moment, I fled outside to try and make things right with the Keebler Elf. I’ve been called ugly many times throughout my life and it’s not a good feeling. No one deserves that.

Finding my way outside, I couldn’t find my little leprechaun anywhere. I did find my pack of cigarettes from within my pocket and proceeded to light one up. As I stood outside puffing away, I came across a generous smile. Before me, standing alone with a cigar in his mouth was a sweet looking “bear” with a t-shirt that read “San Francisco Native”. Without my entourage in tow, I proceeded over to this hairy man, asking if he was actually from San Francisco. He was from the area and thus begun a fun, flirty conversation. It was harmless, but I felt an instant connection to this man that would soon be coined as my friend ‘Teddy Bear’. Chatting for a few minutes, we began poking fun at the drunken shittery that was occurring around us outside this busy nightclub on a Friday night. Amidst our conversation, I noticed the Keebler Elf out of the corner of my eye proceeding to a cab alone. I motioned to say goodbye, but his hurt and anger read deeply across that miniature face. Feeling terrible about my part in the matter, I shared the story with Teddy Bear. He offered I not take this guilt to heart, explaining that these things happen. Then, all of a sudden, a drunken young gay stumbled past the curb in front of Teddy Bear, unzipping his pants and removing his flaccid penis for the world to see. He began a steady stream of urine through the street, barely able to stand. Teddy Bear and I began giggling when the drunken boy’s friend appeared, offering a shoulder for stability, attempting to zip his friend’s pants. I offered a sense of support, chuckling: “Good for you! Spread the love… and the urine!” His friend did not take to this kindly, scolding me and Teddy Bear for my words. Then they were refused re-entry to ‘Badlands’.

 

As I was enjoying Teddy Bear’s company, Trick found his way outside looking to share a cigarette. Teddy Bear and I mostly ignored him, moving on to the topic of marijuana – my weakness. “I have some in my car a few blocks away, if you’re interested.” That I was, but I couldn’t shake Trick who was interested as well, so I deferred the offer. PG arrived outside shortly afterwards, seeking a new place of liquid fun. Teddy Bear directed us to the bar across the street. As the four of us approached the line, I cited a need to buy more cigarettes. Teddy Bear and I then left PG alone with Trick, walking towards a tobacco shop. After purchasing yet another pack of smokes, we made way back to Teddy Bear’s car in hopes of weed. I had been in SF a few days now and gone the entire time without herbal refreshment, so this was a happy surprise for me. We then spent the next few hours baking Teddy Bear’s car into a hotbox of smoke while chatting about everything under the sun. This was my first friend in San Francisco and I felt a lifelong connection in an instant. He was my long-lost Northern California sister. We abandoned the idea of meeting back up with PG and Trick. Around four in the morning, Teddy Bear drove me back to my hotel. We exchanged phone numbers and bid adieu.

The following morning was our final day in San Francisco. Our long car ride back was on the horizon and both PG and I had risen rather early. Instead of getting stuck in the hotel room with Trick another morning, I opted to leave with PG pretty quickly. Packing up our stuff and leaving it with the bell-hop, we were ready for Los Angeles. We had promised Trick a brunch date for the three of us before leaving, but PG was meeting a friend for coffee first and I tagged along for an excuse to be free from Trick. In the cab ride back to the Castro, PG recounted the night after my departure. To my surprise (though it shouldn’t have been), a huge fight took place between PG and Trick at their final bar destination. Yet again, they took separate cabs back to the hotel. I still don’t know how Trick had found money for said cabs, but that was not my business. Upon their individual returns to the hotel, another fight ensued and Trick made a makeshift bed of pillows on the floor, creating a divisive distance in our hotel room from PG. It seems that when I arrived back late into the morning, they had settled on sharing the bed once again. Trick was far more trouble than he was worth as far as I was concerned. PG then went on to tell me that Trick had been complaining restlessly all night about my being a bitch. Well, that was enough for me. I had been as nice as I could be for as long as I could. This mess had received superior treatment from me than he warranted. If that was how he was going to play it, I was done.  

PG and I devised a plan to avoid Trick until our drive back. We would ignore his texts and calls, carrying on brunch without him. Our story would be that my phone had died and PG searched endlessly through the streets for me. There was more to the story, but it’s really inconsequential to the story. We were going to ditch him for the day and I couldn’t be happier. Shortly after grabbing coffee together at Starbucks, I left PG to meet for his prior plans with a friend. I strolled around the Castro, feeling inspired by the creative nature of the city. Within that moment, I decided I was going to move up North. This had been a week long thought in my mind, but now my head was made up. My trip with PG was not what I had expected it to be, but he had delivered me to my new home, along with plenty of writing material and funny stories. I couldn’t fault my friend any longer. Life doesn’t always work out like you expect it to, but it does seem to come to unplanned resolutions. Here I had found the resolution for my next move in life.

 

Walking around the city, I received countless texts and phone calls from Trick. “If he thinks I’m a bitch, I’ll show him how much of one I can be!” With that thought in mind, I steered clear from answering. Two hours went by without a word from PG, however. Finally, I texted him asking where he was. He explained he had been trying to contact me for a while and went ahead to brunch with his friend due to my inaccessibility. I didn’t have one missed text or phone call, finding this strange. Then I asked PG if Trick was with him and he confirmed yes. I set out to meet them at the tail end of brunch. Trick then texted me asking where I was and I finally responded, explaining I was on my way to meet him and PG. When I arrived at the brunch destination, PG was there without Trick, but with his coffee friend. It seemed that he had been texting and calling my recently changed prior number and that he thought I was referring to his friend when I asked if he was with ‘Trick’. The three of us then enjoyed a drink, while I ate some food at another destination within the Castro. After saying goodbye to PG’s friend, we headed back to the hotel. Upon our arrival, Trick was fuming with rage, giving us both the silent treatment like a petulant child. I could care less and took his silence as a gift from above. He stomped his feet throughout the lobby, annoyed by our absence. From the mess that called me a raging bitch less than a few hours prior and was horrific to my friend PG, I really couldn’t be bothered with him.

As we packed into the car, Trick took ownership of the backseat, ignoring PG and I. This couldn’t have gone better for me. Driving back to Los Angeles, I was reminded why PG and I were such good friends. It all started with the musical playlist he began. First we settled on Carrie Underwood’s ‘Jesus Take the Wheel’, a personal favourite. Out of tune and tone deaf, we proceeded to sing along at the top of our breaths. Following this song, we shared an eclectic journey of musical fun ranging from Chaka Khan to Toto to Nine Inch Nails. Our Karaoke session was amazing. Finally I had arrived at the road trip I originally agreed to attend. We laughed about the week and bonded deeper than before. Closing out the weekend, I realized that the mess of our week, with Trick in tow, bonded us closer than ever. We further cemented the love of our familial connection. PG is my brother, bonded for life, and I couldn’t ask for a better friend to take me on such a journey. We had a shit ton of highs and lows this week, but overall, we always came back together. Our collective experiences throughout the week only made for greater stories. The ride kept Trick at a lower volume with only a few moments of his interruption. When he did speak, we iced him out, ignoring most of his attempts. I got us home in four and a half hours, opting to make my home the first destination, allowing PG the opportunity to drop his Trick off in the Valley. Approaching my front door, I found a sense of resolve and exhaustion, happily having enjoyed a road trip to rival any other I had ever been on. If PG was going to help me in life, this trip alone cemented his need to be within my inner circle. Here was a friend that fuels my insatiable palette for crazy and inspires me daily, despite his foul taste in men.

 

This was the last I ever heard from Trick, having blocked his phone number from contacting me upon our return. I will always however remember him fondly as he was the reason for a ‘Rode Trick to San Francisco’. I hope you enjoyed my journey as much as I did.

 

Xoxo.

R.