calm
phoenixdreaming's stay in SF is drawing to a close. When she and JD noted the Phoenix Irish Bar, it was a necessity that they dine there. The time of the meetup was set for 7, and I arrived just after, making good time from BART. There had been flooding on Muni. Stacey arrived a bit later, and then Skud. Nicole and Jesse followed, and Emily completed the party.
Sabrina had photos of JD and Ryan trying on various hats and such. Ryan looked long-suffering, and JD ... well, was JD. Topics in Open Source came up, naturally. The main source of hilarity was the closed captioning on one of the many TVs scattered about the pub; there were enough missing letters and malformed words that a simple football game was transformed into smut, if one took the captions with a dirty mind.
Sabrina tried the chicken with Irish bacon, which was supposedly breaded and fried. It was not; it was, however, extra-crispy. Ryan and I both had a bite under the "Taste this; it's really not all that good!" principle, and I identified the source of the unexpected crispiness as charring: it had clearly more to do with the barbecue method than the frying. It was not unpleasant for those who like that slightly-charred taste, but would have been weird if that were unexpected. The authenticity of the food was ... well, approximately like the authenticity of any ethnic food in a restaurant aimed at locals and not the community, the world around. Most of it was tasty, though.
Ryan, Skud, and Emily made their departures before the rest of the crowd. I shared Shawn-stories with Sabrina. People shared glasses-stories. There was assorted gossip.
We eventually called it a night, and set back out. I still walk slowly, but I'm starting to regain a certain measure of speed. Not perhaps that others would notice, but I am noticing it, and it makes me happy.
I do not walk on the South side of 16th Street between Valencia and Mission after a certain time of night if I can avoid it. The combination of bars and a wide sidewalk leads to roadblocking crowds and dodgy denizens. While the North side is more shadowed and has a certain number of dark alleys, the denizens there are more likely to leave me alone. JD and Sabrina realized that I, trailing behind the party, had crossed the street, and joined me. The clusters of the party re-joined each other approaching the BART station.
My cranky knees do not care much for stairs, either up or down. Thus I attempted to summon the elevator. When there was no reassuring red light after some poking, prodding, and waiting, I pinged the station agent. She rather querulously said that there was mopping, and did we have a baby carriage or what, clearly implying that if we didn't have same, we ought to come over to the side of the station that didn't have mopping going on. "I have bad knees," I stated, and that was sufficient for her to boot up the elevator.
During this exchange, a somewhat scruffy-looking woman approached our party and said things that I could not make out, although she did not seem to be addressing any of us in particular directly. She joined us on the elevator, then made her sock-footed(!) way across the slippery-when-wet floors into the depths of the station.
And thus concluded Monday.
Crossposted.
