No Parking

Plotnik knows better, but still he decided to drive to the Sunday City Hall Farmer's Market yesterday. Of course, no matter how many times he circled all the blocks, there was no place to park. So he came back to the Mission to go to the Chinese fish store, but there was no place to park there either. So he went back to see about going into the new Whole Foods on 24th Street. Are you kidding?

When he finally found a parking spot several blocks up Noe Street, and walked into the Whole Foods, it was like the weekend Trader Joe opened on 14th St. in the Shmapple. Lines from the checkstand all the way through to the back of the store, and, though it's true the fish looked rather fresh, and I say rather fresh, not perfectly fresh because it is goddam fish filets in a goddam ice case and Whole Foods does NOT have fishermen on the roof pulling Mahi Mahi out of the goddam parking lot no matter HOW much the kindly attendants would like you to believe that, there was still the matter of 30 people between the back of the line and the front of the line, all with these spaced-out beatific grins on their grizzled faces, as if to say I GOT MY FISH AND YOU DIDN'T. Plotnik was really happy to beat it on out of there fishless. You've GOT to be kidding about this market.

Driving around looking for parking, and then shopping in celebrity stores where you are an afterthought because the %^^##@! free range chicken beaks are the superstars-- it's such a Stiletto City thing to do. Whenever Plottie has to ask himself why he likes not living there any more, he'll only have to think about yesterday for the answer.

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But what did Sunday go and do? It turned into Monday. Plotnik has avoided yoga for his entire adult life but he can avoid it no longer. He's got his mat and his sandals. This morning Ducknik and he are driving over to the Avenues to see their good friend Loose Leaf, Yogi Master, and take an introductory course. Maybe there won't be anywhere to park.