Meccanized

You know what really grinds my gears?  When you slip/trip and fall on the wet pavement outside of a restaurant (and drop your groceries) and the diners inside press their sausage fingers and fat faces against the window to try to get a better look as you flounder helpless and wet to collect your food before it rolls into the street.

I was hurrying back from the store to avoid getting soaked when I had a foot malfunction on the wet pavement and ended up on my butt, on the sidewalk, in an inch of water, with my paper grocery bag (never have I hated SF’s no plastic bag law as I did in that moment) tipped over and flooding next to me.

Fortunately, a very nice homeless man who had asked me for change minutes before came over and helped me up and helped me pick up my spilled items (he was unable to salvage my pride, which by then had leaked out of my body and into the gutter on California street).  He refused to take anything but a thank you, and I would like to De-Meccanize him — for helping me and for restoring my faith in humanity.

However, wet pavement and the collection of people at the Curbside Cafe who looked on as I hit a weekend low (and the ground), you are Meccanized.

I need a hug.  And some dry pants.