Streat Meat

A night that I thought was ending turned out to be so much more.

            When asked the question what super power would you have? I have always known my answer. As a child, I would respond without missing a beat, mind control. This answer would be met with questions, some people offering up different powers such as flying or super strength. Why would I need other powers? It seemed simple to me, if I had the power of mind control, I would always get my way as well as nothing bad ever coming my way. So, as I aged out of being a child and into teenagehood, I learned the closest I could come to attaining my desired super power was through manipulation.

            Manipulation was a popular topic of discussion for my father and me. From an early age, he taught me simple ways to become more likeable and keep a conversation going. It was simple, everyone loved to talk about themselves, so all you had to do was ask plenty of questions about themselves, focusing on the things they liked to talk about most. Another great way was to say one’s name often in conversation, but not too often where it was creepy �" people liked to hear their own names. The tips seemed to be endless but also held to be true, annoyingly so.

            In my late teens into early twenties, I had garnered the nickname “The Manipulator of Good Times”. Rather lengthy, but well-deserved, I had the ability to talk nearly anyone into nearly anything. This ranged from having a margarita (or three) on a work lunch break to having a friend flash a single breast for free drugs at a somewhat sketchy underground after party. If there was something I wanted on a night out, I could twist almost anything my way, rarely being told no.

            I knew not to push anyone beyond their limits, often pushing right to the edge, but never over. However, I was also spending those nights with friends who I knew and had often partied with before. It would be a car full of strangers and some late-night bar occupants where I should have reserved some of the good times for another night.

            The night began different than most other nights, my friend having received a promotion just hours before, gathered several of our friends for a few after-work drinks. Five of us gathered at our favorite bar in San Francisco’s Mission district, huddled into one of several booths in the back. As we cheered on the new Assistant Manager, a round of tequila shots was offered up to our table, a group of several boys looking on. After a quick thirty second conversation, we decided it was not the night, and thanked the boys before turning back into our own conversation. After two or three more rounds of various mixed drinks, the group called it quits, many of us having an early morning opening shift.

            The girls and I began to drift outside a bit sluggishy, each of us having had enough drinks to make walking a little harder. The sun was beginning to set and San Francisco’s cold autumn breeze began to sting my cheeks. Two of the girls had lived close enough to walk home, departing with a hug and a promise to see each other tomorrow. The remaining two girls and I stood on the corner, all waiting for our rideshares home.

            San Francisco streets, like I imagine many large U.S. cities do, often ones aligned with popular bar areas, host street cart meat, something that I lovingly call, Street Meat. In this case, the cart was selling a hot dog with grilled onions and peppers, the perfect drunk food. The scents of the meats wafted through the air, the warmth of the grill pulling us closer. As the three of us began to step closer to the cart, the chef la cart and his friend yelled out to us, begging us to come closer and offering up free Street Meat. Kaitlyn and I look at each other, intrigued by the offer of free food. As Kaitlyn and I looked towards Nicole, she shook her long bangs out of her eyes before reminding us again that she had couldn’t eat gluten. The two men proceeded to shower the three of us with compliments as Kaitlyn and I took up the offer of free meats. Drunk and now high off of compliments, ego inflated, my phone beeped notifying me that my rideshare had arrived. I was not leaving without my free Street Meat and the chef and friend were still lavishing Kaitlyn with compliments, only having just finished wrapping the first hot dog. I hugged the two girls and thanked the boys before taking the wrapped Street Meat out of Kaitlyn’s hand, running to open the door of my Lyft.

            “I’m so sorry, and I really hope you don’t mind, but I just got some free Street Meat and I don’t want to throw it away. I won’t eat in your car, I promise.” The words spilled out of my mouth quickly as I opened the door and situated myself in the backseat. The driver laughed and assured me it was okay, even giving permission to eat it if I so desired. I thanked him, taking a moment to roll down the window and yell out at my friends, “Free Street Meat, b*****s!”. The driver laughed again before informing me that we had to pick up 2 people, a couple.

            I instantly rolled my eyes, but was happy with where I had seated myself, in the backseat, forcing the couple to be separate from each other and thus hopefully, unable to make-out. Public PDA was a thing I was uncomfortable but okay with; however, public PDA in confined spaces was something that I was highly against. Within a minute of the driver’s warning of onboarding strangers, he had pulled over to pick them up- a boy and a girl. The boy sat in the passenger seat while the girl sat beside me in the backseat. She quickly looked over and smiled, introducing herself as Mariah, then pointing at the boy in the passenger seat and identifying him as Collin, her brother. He turned around in his seat and gave a short nod before turning back around.

            She was friendly, quick to maintain a conversation and shared what seemed to be their life story in a few quick sentences. They were from Scranton, Pennsylvania (like where The Office [American] takes place), she was a nurse, he was in the military, and every summer they take family trips together but that night the two of them had left the rest of the family at the rented vacation house in Berkeley. I nodded, sensing that the two of them were also intoxicated and smiled. I offered the brother, Collin, my free Street Meat which seemed to win him over, his stiffness relaxing into a more conversational-able person as he devoured the hot dog. I asked the sister if they were headed back to Berkeley, confirming that that is where I was going to too and that we should all go out together. Continue the night until we couldn’t do so anymore.

            “Mariah, babes! I know this cool little place that we can go to.” I smiled at her brightly while she was at first hesitant, she began to nod enthusiastically while I lied about knowing a place. I only ever went out in the city and relied on my new boyfriend to text me a list of bars in Berkeley. I turned towards the driver, “You’re coming too, right? You got us this far, you have to come with us!” I asked, figuring we would still need a driver. The driver looked almost shocked that I had asked before agreeing and turning off his driving app, pledging his services for the rest of the night.

            I directed the driver to the first bar on the list, which at 1:15 AM (Call time is at 2 PM) was a bust. The four of us; me, the siblings, and the driver, regrouped to go to the second bar on the list, a small place just a few blocks down. Within minutes, the driver pulled his car into the bar parking lot, one of the few vacant spots. The bar itself was a true dive bar, an old wooden bar with torn leather bar stools, a pool table in the corner that had initials carved into, posters littered on the wall about upcoming small shows, the lights dim but cozy. I called the group over to the bar and ordered the first round, shots of vodka with lime, and quickly put in an order for a whiskey sour, it seemed fitting for the bar. Mariah looked on in awe as I ordered, citing that she didn’t like whiskey. I whispered to her it mainly tasted like a sour patch kid candy and offered her a sip, her eyes growing as she did so. “That’s really good! Collin!” She waved her brother over from the pool table and launched into a speech about how she found a new drink and she may like whiskey now.

            I waited as the rest of the group to get their drinks before venturing outdoors. The bar let out into a beautiful covered patio. Eight or so tables lined the fence of the patio, music filling the cold night air. While the bar inside had looked somewhat desolate, it was the outside that breathed into it life. Many of the tables were occupied, I had been speaking with Mariah about how we may be better inside, when the driver called out, having secured a spot at a table near an outside heater. I smiled and thanked the driver for his help as we sat down.

            The night continued, several more songs came and went as did a few more drinks, no lull in the group conversation. As it grew closer to final call and could feel my energy draining and mentioned that I had a penchant for some Booger Sugar, a stupid nickname that my friends and I had given to the not so sugary cocaine. The driver pulled a joint from his pocket and offered that instead. I noticed the siblings had grown quiet and apologized for my brashness. The two shook their heads no and said they were wanting to try it, for the first time. My eyes grew wide, I didn’t want to pop their drug cherry, but I also wasn’t going to play mom as I was the one to bring it up. I was calmed by the fact that we didn’t have access to any Booger Sugar; however, within a second of the sibling’s confession, did a man slide into the seat next to me, claiming that he had heard my wish.

            This new man was clean shaven and wearing a button down, which seemed odd dress for a bar such as this, but also figured it was a Berkeley student who didn’t know how to dress for a night out. Regardless of his appearance, he was sitting too close to me, but slowly offered a small baggie of Booger Sugar from out of his front shirt pocket. I looked at Mariah, her eyes wide with excitement. Collin was still stony faced, watching the whole thing unfold. The man offered the baggie to me, I dipped my acrylic pinkie nail into the bag, catching the loose powder into the crevice of the underside of the nail before quickly raising it to my nostril and breathing in. Considering the source and the setting, it was good, a sharp burn stinging in my nostril for a second. I opened my eyes to find Collin and Mariah watching my every movement. I reminded them they didn’t have to, Collin now, for the first time beginning to hesitate; however, Mariah soon held her own nose, not used to the sting, followed by Collin, trying not to touch his face but his eyes watering. I looked toward the driver and he waved it off, lighting up his joint instead.

            The group, now joined by the Booger Sugar Lord (the guy who was holding), talked for a few more minutes before the bar finally called for last call. I watched as Collin took a hit off of the driver’s joint, reflecting on how much time had passed since we first arrived, the amount of actions not seeming to match the amount of time. Collin who had seemed like an innocent military boy in the car, had now taken several hits off of the driver’s joint as well as tried a nip of Booger Sugar. I wondered how much of that was my influence.

            As we exited the bar, the Booger Sugar Lord had begun to cling onto me, asking me what I was doing the rest of the night and that he had more Booger Sugar back at his place. I smiled and shook my head no, explaining that I had to be at work in four hours and needed to get at least a few hours of sleep. I thanked him for his product and followed the rest of the group outside. Mariah and Collin were already seated and buckled into the driver’s car, the driver was standing outside, leaning on his car, waiting for me. I smiled and waved at him, when the Booger Sugar Lord came stomping outside, grabbing my arm as he approached. He restated his initial offer, still gripping onto my arm. I looked at him for a second, before ripping my arm out of his and turning to walk towards the car. I could hear him take several steps forward, but as he did so the driver started to huff up and walk towards him. The driver told me to get in the car and that he would handle this. After a meek, “Okay,” I got into the car, Mariah instantly asking what had happened. I explained that the guy just wanted me to go back with him as we watched the two men exchange words outside of the car. After a minute, the man left and the driver turned around, getting into the car and asking if we were hungry.

            Collin yelled out some random fast food chain and we all agreed, eager to end the night with a full stomach, hydration, and hopefully no hangover the following day. I thanked the driver for stepping in as he drove to the drive thru, which he just shrugged off and said it wasn’t an issue. Mariah gave a speech about how great this night had been, signing off by finishing off a bag of tacos. As the driver asked us where we were finally headed home to, we decided I was the closest and the first to be dropped off. Now, with food in our bellies, officially on a come down, the remainder of the ride was silent. When the car finally did slow in front of my house, I thanked the driver for his help all night, and exchanged good byes with the siblings, Mariah and I trading social media accounts to stay in touch.

            The next morning, when the alarm clock sang, the realities of last night had hit me. I had never partied with strangers that I met in a rideshare, in fact, I usually made a point of not doing so. Had I also witnessed some military man doing drugs for the first time and would the affect his line of work in any such way? Am I to blame if so? Did I bring these two siblings fun or did I put them on a rocky path? While I hadn’t manipulated much that night other than getting them to go out with me, it still felt like if anything negative happened it would have been my fault. I was also aware and thankful that the driver had been such a help throughout the night, offering us a safe, free ride as well as almost literally fighting off the Booger Sugar Lord. It was a fun night, a good night, and albeit a relatively tame night all considered that started over some free Street Meat.

Author's Note

A long break from writing, trying to get back into it. Revamped, so if you saw this from 4/5 years ago, thank you for reading again!