A few summers ago I temporarily lived in Santa Rosa but visited some friends residing in San Francisco.
The Plan: Poleng’s Happy Hour (25cent chicken wings, $3 drafts = heaven), then drive back to Santa Rosa that night so I could attend work the following morning.
The Reality: Polengs initiated a bar stumble down Haight Street where we met a Random (man in yellow beanie) who purchased a turquoise necklace for me on the street regardless of my protests (notice turquoise necklace). We consumed a deluge of Long Island Iced Teas (Vodka, Tequila, Rum, Gin, Triple Sec, Sweet and Sour Mix, and a splash of Coca-Cola – clearly a catastrophic compound), and I concluded the night on my friend’s couch. I awoke the following morning, my face adorned with permanent pen, which I immediately eradicated. I failed to perceive the swastikas on my right calf and the bottom of my foot until days later.
*Side note: if devious “Chiefing” desired: location recommendations: calf or bottom of foot*
I launched my life together and rushed to my car, still hopeful of arriving at work on time.
My car had been towed.
In following months, my friends and I consistently referred to the Long Island Bar of Debauchery as Golden Chopsticks. Months later we realized the actual bar's name: Golden Cane. We still refer to it as Golden Chopsticks.