The other day I was riding the Fillmore 22 bus, headed for the Mission district. It was a weekend, late afternoon, and a group of hipsters boarded, two tipsy girls, one outright drunk guy. The guy almost hit the floor when the bus took off, but one of the girls caught him. Not that you have to be drunk to have that problem — only not holding on. But all sober people know to hold on!
Eventually the bus cleared and they all found seats, and began to talk. It was both sad in the way that means pathetic, and sad in the way which is actually sorrowful. Because poor drunk hipster couldn’t figure out why his friends didn’t stick with him. Why did they talk about him behind his back? Couldn’t they see he was worthwhile? After all, he put a lot of work into his look. People shouldn’t be so superficial to judge him just because his sense of style didn’t exactly match up with theirs.
One of the girls assured him that no, those other so-called-friends were fools. They didn’t appreciate his sense of fashion. He really DID look cool. Anyone could see it.
It is possible I facepalmed at this moment, but I don’t think anyone noticed.