By Fat Foot Jefferson (that’s kind of disgusting, isn’t it?) AKA: Aimee Rancer AKA: @aimeerancer

So, Matt and Max gave me the privilege of writing an AWESOME guest post for you suckaz. And if this doesn’t make me an honorary member of Team Tallsome, well I’ll just have to chest bump them until they man up (is that considered a sexist term?) Also, I need to add that just because I’m a lady doesn’t mean I can’t BRO out. And I like to BRO OUT HARD. With that said, I’m very excited about the opportunity to write about my adventures! BUT first, let me give you a lowdown on myself.

BH4L (Bro Hard 4 Life)!

 I graduated from Ohio University in June (HOLLA BACK, ATHENS!) with a degree in Journalism and well, we all know about that profession. It’s about as useful as a history degree, no offense. With that said, I got an opportunity to move to San Francisco for a job so I did.

(Insert the most original title for the most original photo of San Francisco ever HERE)

Six months and a new job later (follow your dreams kids!), I’m still truckin’ along with flowers in my hair. FYI: Pre-requisite to living in San Francisco is that you have to love that god awful “San Francisco” song by Scott McKenzie.

I digress. Now, I’ve lived big city style, everyone. I’ve done my time in Chicago, New York, Boston but nothing like the West Coast. I will be the first person to tell you that I do now use the term “rad” and even have thrown out a “hella” or two in my day. And yes, I do feel like a complete and utter douchebag every time it exits my red lipped pout.

San Francisco is great on so many levels. It’s the start-up capital of the U.S. (I just made that up but that’s what I’ve been hearing), they put Avocado on everything (it’s the GOOD kind of fat, kids!) and puppies run rampant (SERIOUSLY, everyone owns pugs.)

BUT, there is one thing that I just have to say that may be the only sour point on this great city. The homeless. Now, I’m not making this into some political rant/malarkey. I am simply saying that the character of these homeless (on occasion) are so different than the ones in New York, Cleveland, Chicago, etc.

Let me first start off by saying that I am all for being nice to everyone. I never wish harm on anyone (unless you’re Carrot Top because jesus, he’s annoying) but the homeless in SF are downright insulting!

Woof.

I truly feel bad for these individuals. But I’m a sucker and want to help. Hey guys, I have a heart. For instance, in Chicago I finished a lovely meal of deep dish pizza and had some left over. I saw a guy begging for money/saying he was hungry so I thought I’d indulge and give him my pizza. Go me! Helping humanity, right? Thinking he was so grateful after he said “Bless ya, miss!” I go back around fifteen minutes later and to my horror, he was trying to sell my leftover pizza to people.

OH HAIL NAW. I couldn’t believe this dude was trying to sell my cheesy goodness to random strangers. Even more unbelievable, I think he actually got someone to buy it off of him too. Do I get royalties?

So, that got me a little miffed. You know, “Fool me once. Shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” Why do I never listen to my own advice?

Whatever. I’m used to people taking my money. But in SF. Oh, they attack your character to the very core. Let me set the scene, shall I?

I was coming home from a few interviews downtown (let’s hear it for that journalism degree, one more time!) and waiting for the bus. It was chilly (for California standards, so it was 55 degrees guys) and there was just a slight drizzle of rain so I decided to take cover. While I was waiting, I overheard an older man, nicely dressed in a fedora, tweed jacket and nice oxfords say, “pretty lady!” Well, to be honest…I won’t lie to you. I was flattered! Even if the only compliments I can get are from men who are AARP status. I’ll take it.

After I smile, he approaches me with the zinger. “Are you Czech?” Uh… maybe it’s an insult to my heritage, but I honestly have no freaken idea. So, like any white trash girl would retort I say, “Uh… I’m from Ohio??” We then go into friendly stranger/creepy conversation.  The city, the bus, Ohio. Thrilling conversation. After a few minutes of idle chatter, he goes into saying how he is a millionaire and that there is a movie that is filming in LA about his life. He adds how he has selflessly given money to thousands of individuals and drug addicts.

How nice, right? He then tells me I need to take a leap of faith and give him $11. Annoying. I thought he was just being a stand up old gramps keeping me company as I wait for the 3 Jackson. I told him I was unemployed, broke and definitely only had three dollars in my wallet. This man tells me that he can PROVE his millions and if I did give him the money, I’d be set for life. I argue with him uncomfortably for a few minutes until he says that the people usually look at one’s outter appearance and judge them instantly. Who doesn’t? I give him my three dollars (hey, that’s latte from Starbucks!) and well…he had the nerve to say he WANTED MORE.  He even suggested I go into a deli around the corner and get more money out of the ATM. Come on, man. You be trippin. I mean, I’m pretty naïve when it comes to a lot of things, but you want me to take money out of my ATM? I tell him I’m sorry and that the three bucks is all I can do. The conversation went a little something like this:

Old Man: “You’re not sorry. You’re selfish like the rest of humanity.”

Me: “Uhm, I don’t know what to tell you…I’m just waiting for my bus.”

Old Man: “You’re going to have bad karma!! I make millions and I could set you up for life. This is a test. A test in humanity.”

Me: “Still. I’m broke and unemployed. I don’t have money to give.”

Old Man: “Well, you’re conceited and self-centered. You’ll learn! People like you make the world like this!!”

I’m used to these kind of homeless!

WOOF. This went on for another few minutes until he has the nerve to give me my three dollars back and walks away in a huff. The homeless people not only want to take your money but they want to drop kick your dignity and make you re-think your entire existence.

This experience taught me that I just really need to keep mini pizzas with me at all times or just say “get back, get back! You don’t know me like that!” I think that may even be a better option.

Maybe though, he was being completely honest and some sort of old man messiah that was bestowing his wisdom on other Czech look-a-likes.

And after all that…

I did miss my bus.