San Francisco Rooftops aka JK the Cat Burglar

OK, blog fans, I had started a retrospective on my time in India and falling into the Ganges, but the save function didn't work properly, so I'lll whisk you to San Francisco, last week.


I was vacationing in my former place of residency, when this strange incident occurred. I was staying with a friend in an apartment building of around twelve units. The staircase ended in a door to the roof, which needed to be propped open while you walked around on the roof and surveyed the surrounding landscape. It's a great area in Western Addition that includes Alamo Square Park, home to the iconic homes of the Full House television series. My final night home, I made my way back after a night at McTeague's and the Kozy Kar Bar (kind of weird but with comfortable seats).

Prior to leaving, I had a downright bizarre experience with a beautiful French ballerina. For some reason, she patronizes McTeague's once a week despite living in the beautiful East Bay city of Oakland. I barely spoke with her on my first visit there, but after returning from a snack of animal crackers and candy served by my friend Eddie in his apartment, she began talking to me almost immediately. It really seemed like I had to be on hidden camera for the following reasons: A)this woman had no business at McTeague's B)she had no business talking to me, especially because I was wearing a beard that hadn't been shaven in months along with my black-framed dork glasses that I bought with the express purpose of driving away females C)her bizarre behavior to follow.

Despite my best efforts to show almost no interest in this amazingly gorgeous woman, she managed to corner me about my plans for the weekend. I told her that I was just in town for a few days and was leaving for Vegas in the morning. To this, she replied, with the cutest French accent, "Why are you going to Las Vegas? Why not stay here?"

RetiredJK: "Ummm.... cause if I stayed here I would miss my flight to Vegas."
FrenchBallerina: "But what would you miss in Vegas? You should stay."
RJK: "I'm going to my friend's birthday party. There's no argument about this."
FB: "You should stay; you never know."

Never know what? How creepy a hot French ballerina can get after a couple drinks? I don't think I want to stick around for this. At one point, I actually enlisted some friends' assistance in a cock-block setup to get her away from me.

So we parted ways, and she drove off down the road, the wrong way on a one way street in her BMW SUV.

So I trekked home to the Full House apartment and clicked on the baseball highlights. Drawn to the rooftop around three AM to look out on the city, I forgot to block open the door in my haste and forgetfulness. No problemo, I thought, I'll try the keys. No luck. Being the huge guido that I am, I tried to muscle the door open, but to no avail. At this point I first faced the possibility of spending the night on the roof in my shorts (I had changed into shorts upon arrival), a possibility that could be fatal in chilly San Fran. I stood by the edge for about a half hour, waiting for someone trustworthy to walk so I could toss my keys to them in the expectation that they'd actually come up and open the door. But at 4:15 in the morning, there just aren't alot of people walking around, and most that are you wouldn't want to be in posession of your keys.


So I gave up on finding someone to let me in. I check the fire escapes, which I realized would be my only way off the roof in case an inferno engulfed the entire place (no, setting it did not cross my mind). They looked steep. And close to people's windows. And possibly slippery. I sat and meditated on my next step for awhile. At this point, it was closing in on 5 AM. I called my friend who owned the apartment, and dammit, he was staying elsewhere that night! In my time of need, you're gone, and I'm stuck on a rooftop; I think I could make contemporary rock song up about the situation. So I decide that I need to take drastic action, lest a tenant come up to the roof for their morning yoga and find my asleep in my shorts in front of the door. That's not something they call the police for; it's something they call Animal Control for at that point.


I check the two fire escapes and opt for the one away from the street so that, maybe, not as many people will call the police. I shimmied awkwardly down the ladder to the top floor of windows; no lights on. So far, so good. The rest was just stairs albeit thin ones, but I took the final couple floors in a matter of seconds. Only one window was lit and I avoided looking into it. I smashed a potted plant on accident. But when I got to the bottom, I discovered that I was STILL ON A FIRST-FLOOR ROOFTOP.


There was no way out; all the sides were at least twelve feet to the ground with no obvious ways down. Evidently, escaping was not meant to be. Desperately, I surveyed the surrounding territory. The building was attached to a row house by a garage and small garden. However, getting to the ground would require climbing onto the house's windows, garage and fences. At this point, I had no other option. Certain that the police or at least a dog would await me on the ground, I crawled across their oversized stone window sill and down several small rocky shelves in their garden. A security light switched on and I went into stealth mode. Only one more barrier; a six-foot fence to the street. Of course, I couldn't open the gate from the inside and had to scale yet another fence. I sprinted to the apartment building's door, entering just in time to watch the police pass by on the street.



Overall, this morning was a test of my gymnastics, my wits, and my stupidity all at once. Luckily, I took off a few hours later for Vegas, where no one really cares if you're crawling around with glasses on at five in the morning.

I admit defeat. Touche, bartendress.

You may have noticed that I haven't blogged about work in a few weeks, which is odd because it's pretty fertile ground for blog fodder. Well that's because I haven't been working. My place of employment closed Monday-Thursday for the winter season; evidently $50 in receipts at the bar every night just wasn't cutting it. So I had applied at another bar in town (the only bar in town open all night all winter) for employment, thinking it a sure thing. So here's the story that left me unemployed and eating canned pig's feet for my one meal a day.

Thinking that I was a shoo-in for the job, I initially applied through word-of-mouth when I learned that the former Tuesday-Wednesday bartender decided to return to school at Wyoming to study something nebulous called "Geographic Information Systems." I later learned that, far from being nebulous, this major only includes GPS and related topics, making it very useful indeed. But anyway, my application proceeded through the appropriate channels but stalled in the hiring committee due to concerns over the now-infamous "Mohammed Incident" or "rock incident" which is detailed in prior blogs. Evidently the rock lady is good friends with several members of the hiring committee and she still had (and has) it in for me; in fact, I've heard it's what keeps her awake at night (ed: scary).

So I filled out a formal "Application for Employment" detailing my sterling high school academic record, astounding standardized test scores, Harvard degree (with honors), and subsequent short-lived career as an internist. I also used my extensive bartending experience (almost ten full days of work) as a reference. I sensed success when only a couple other people applied for the position. But hear from them soon I did not. I overheard a discussion of the hiring committee later, which clued me into their discriminatory practices: "We need a girl to take over. She's pretty too."

To me this amounts to overtly discriminatory employmentary practices. It also subtly implied that I'm not pretty, which added insult to financial injury. I felt like I had a case for the Supreme Court of Wyoming, or perhaps the World. It hasn't happened yet, but my initial conversation with an employment lawyer will likely go something like this:

RetiredJK: "Hello, I've been denied employment because I'm a male."
Lawyer: "I'm sorry to hear that viciously discriminated against you have been (it took me quite awhile to figure out how to not end that sentence in a preposition). What happened? Billing hours start right now by the way."
RJK: "I was passed over for a job at a bar for a pretty girl."
Lawyer: "Clearly that's an exception to anti-discrimination laws. How many sea donkeys do you see getting hired at bars?"
RJK: "....But E stands for equality, and E. pluribus unum, and all that for which our forefathers worked to make this country great. Abe Lincoln (who's kind of a JK look-alike when he grows a mustache along with his beard) would want me to have this opportunity."

Lawyer: "E also stands for employed, which you are not, thank you for the call. Abe Lincoln was a staunch supporter of hot women working in bars also. That will be $49.50."

So finally, at the bar yesterday, a stranger entered; female she was, indeed. Pretty, also. I won't give an exact number but she ranks as an integer somewhere between six and eight. This made me feel much better, the idea that I could be jobless but still served drinks by a good-looking person. I can compromise on that. So my current plans are to wait out the winter here, snowboarding, tutoring for ACT's for cash, applying for psych residency, and plotting my revenge against the crazy rock lady.

If you find yourself in the Denver area, I'm only a couple hours from there. You should come visit, providing you are one of mis amigos and not some random tranny scanning blogs for invitations to meet in rural locations. Also, I'll keep all updated to travel plans via this blog. First trip: Oct 20-23, San Francisco 23-25 Vegas??? That's what I'm thinkin. Gotta visit the old stomping grounds in SF (mostly McTeague's Saloon) and Vegas for a couple bday parties.

Word.