The Adventures of Ernie in Urban Areas
No less than two weeks that I’ve been living here in Oakland, the lesbian bookstore / massage therapy building next door catches fire. No lie. I’m upstairs, minding my own business, when I look out the balcony to see three fire trucks, flares, thick black smoke, and since I live across the street from a gay bar, fifteen homosexual onlookers. (Could you just imagine the conversation? “Oh honey, you’re so on fire you lit the bookstore on fire. Look. See?”)
What’s the first thing my roommate does? Warn our neighbors. What do I do? Grab my digital camera and take pictures. *pause* What? I just moved in here a week ago. Dorothy, we’re not in Silicon Valley anymore. And naturally, after an event such as this, comes the peanut gallery style Instant Messenger conversation…
Min Jung: everything ok?
Ernie: oh yeah, we’re fine. there is gonna be some pissed off lesbians tho — a fire broke out in their space.
Min Jung: how you know it’s pissed off lesbians?
Ernie: cuz it’s a lesbian bookstore.
Min Jung: oh shit.
Ernie: yep.
Min Jung: what started it? a vibrator that wouldnt’ turn off? not enough lube? too much friction? only you can stamp out bush fires.Min Jung: oh, i’m going to hell. i’m SO going to hell.
Nope. I’m not gonna go there. Not with a twenty-foot burnt vibrator pole.
