Monstra mihi pecuniam!

Here`s what I did today -- I will tell it in reverse order, just to keep readers interested with the genuinely touching, heartwarming, milk-of-human-kindness part first:

I was on my way home, trying to get the change machine at the Church St. Muni station to change my $5 bill into change I could use to get on the train (Muni turnstiles only take quarters). But my bill was all creased and worn out -- the machine wouldn`t take it. I tried again and again, and even tried different machines, but they just kept spitting it back out.

So I went up to people, to ask if anyone had change, and here`s where it gets ugly: no one would acknowlege me. They acted as if I were a homeless person asking for change -- they avoided making eye contact, and pretended I wasn`t there at all, even though I was waving my useless $5 bill.

I went up to the guy in the Muni booth, and asked him. He was an older white guy. "Sorry, no money in here. Ask someone for change," he said gruffly, without making eye contact.

"I am, and no one will even talk to me!" I said.

I went back to the machines. I put the money through again -- I figured I had a better chance of making my plight appeal to a stranger if they actually witnessed me trying and failing to use the change machine. I then turned to the man at the machine next to me (a balding, middle-aged white guy in a brown leather jacket), and said, "Excuse me -- my bill`s not going through. Do you have change for a five?"

The man totally ignored me, and walked away. Maybe people who live in certain parts of cities get so used to ignoring homeless people`s constant pleas for cash that ignoring everyone just comes automatically after a while?

The old man in the change booth saw the whole thing, and something about it must have touched his gruff old heart. He left the booth, came over to me, and asked if I was sure I didn`t have any other bills. I only had a one, and the fare was $1.50.

"Change the one, and then come to the gate next to the booth," he said.

He let me through the gate for only a dollar. I was so touched I tried to give him my $5, but he refused to take it.

"Merry Christmas," he growled. "Go! Get on the train!"

There -- that was the happy ending. Now here`s the beginning: I managed to get a very early doctor`s appointment for Big Son this morning, to find out that he does indeed have strep throat, in a very bad way.

After running around all morning to the doctor and then getting the prescription filled, I barely made it to a lunch date I had, that I`d planned weeks in advance and didn`t want to cancel.

I had no time to shower or even change, and I was wearing kind of ratty old clothes. I don`t think I looked homeless, but....oh, well. Maybe I did. Anyway, I certainly didn`t look my best.

I had lunch with the favorite cousin of my best friend Dianne from college, who couldn`t believe that I had lived in San Francisco for a year and a half, and still hadn`t met George.

George is indeed great -- he`s a gay guy who lives in a fantastic rent controlled apartment in the Castro, and sometimes attends services at the same church at which I attended a really excellent funeral a few months ago. It`s always funny when you get together for the first time with someone who is closely tied to people you know well. I did my impression of Dianne`s mother, and George was amazed, and said, "Oh my god, you sound just like her!" I knew all of George`s family stories because I`d been hearing them for 20 years from Dianne, so we could gossip about who was doing what -- I guess I`m almost an honorary cousin, too.

The strep and the mean people sucked, but meeting George and getting help from the kind Muni man really made it a great day.

So I`m just going to concentrate on the happy stuff, and...... go get some sleep. And dream of sugar plums, and all that crap. G`night!