In Which Fred Causes Trouble. Again

Standard

Secret Agent Fred and I were out sort of running errands earlier this week.  Actually, let me correct that, “running errands” sounds infinitely more focused and purposeful than Fred and I ever are.  Think of it more as “We were wandering around and occasionally, errand-like events more or less occurred.”  Yeah, that’s more like it.  Anyway, as part of our bumbling, we washed ashore in an odd part of town near the nursery I like because they always have a huge clearance sale this time of year to make room for Xmas trees and I have scored some prime flowers and shrubs there marked down to less than 75 per cent of the original asking price.

I wanted to also show Fred an odd little gem near there that’s fascinated me for years.  I assume the Silver Crest Donut Shop is Exhibit A on somebody’s thesis trying to prove holes in the fabric of time exists.  A grimy, 24 hour joint with a pool hall beer joint in the back, it has obviously never been touched by the brush of gentrification so obvious in other parts of San Francisco.  It usually seems deserted, but the beer joint is so dark, it’s impossible to be sure what’s lurking around the edges.  Child molesting gremlins, at a guess.  I understand patrons refer to it as “The Crust.”

We rolled in and Fred was boggled and started shooting pictures of the out of date decor and semi-antique fixtures.  A frumpy hag shuffled out of the bar and agreed to sell me two donuts, but made her dark suspicions concerning the two of us evident. She repeated my order several times, with the emphasis shifting around in it as if she was trying to figure out what my con was.  “You want two donuts?”  “You want two donuts?”  “You want two donuts?”  By the time she was through even I was wondering what I was covering up.  Did I mention her thick Russian accent?  Oh yeah.

Then she noticed Fred and his camera and her background as a Russian mafia hit man kicked in.  “No pictures.  This private property.  Stop pictures.”  We got the donuts and fled, it seemed possible she would have been training to kill armed with nothing but her ratty mule house shoe.

I did get some nice plants at the sale.

9 responses »

  1. Ha ha! Love it – the Cold War never died, it merely retreated to a Crusty Donut emporium in downtown San Francisco. It sounds like a case for Austin Powers! Jx

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s