NEW YORKER SCARRED FOR LIFE

The poor dear. He never saw it coming. Since then, whenever anyone reminds him of it, he turns green and likely to faint.

A few years ago there used to be a homeless person living near the office. Several colleagues had over time helped her out or done favours for her and consequently she remembered them. She knew their names and where they worked, and would come up to the third floor and demand that they be produced forthwith, as their input was required again.

Her raspy voice would sound forth: "Tell Scott I want to see him!". Or, "Where's Jimmie? Tell him to come out now!". And even "You tell Bertie that I need five dollars - I'll wait here!"

The receptionist would patiently go through the pretense of calling Scott, Jimmie, and Bertie, then regretfully inform Angelica that the person in question did not appear to be available, maybe they weren't coming in that day.

After Angelica finally left, the receptionist would go around and tell people that they could stop crouching.



GET ME A CAB!

One person in my department hid under his desk whenever he heard Angelica's voice.
He had once given her a dollar, and she remembered him. She was hard to refuse - she would lean in and breathe at you, and in the process show you her mouth-polyps or accidentally brush against you with part of her anatomy till you co-operated.

One day my colleague and I were outside smoking, when Angelica came by. She had an appointment at some agency, and needed us to flag down a cab for her and watch her dog for a few hours.
Not being particularly stupid, I promptly went back inside, leaving him to deal with the situation. He came in forty five minutes later, having found Angelica a cab and bribed the man into also taking the dog.
Besides paying the cab fare in advance.

For the next six months, he was the first person that Angelica would demand to see whenever she came up to the third floor. She would call his name, not believing that he wasn't there - she hollered that she had seen him come in!

Angelica hated my guts, 'cause I told her once that I had no interest in flagging down a cab for her, really, she should've gotten off her duff earlier if she had an appointment. And I don't even like that dog - good day to you.



IT'S JUICY!

She had the worst impact on Richard, however. Richard was an innocent college boy from New York who had come out to California only a few weeks before getting hired.
He loved San Francisco, it was so diverse!

One morning he was crossing Pine Street, when Angelica and another street person were having a discussion. The other person insisted that Angelica was not female, but just some stunted football player. Hah! Fake! Ugly homo!
Angelica at that pointed yanked her dress up to her chin and yelled "I'm all woman, baby, look at it! Juicy!".

She was not wearing underwear.


Richard didn't tell me this. His friend Ken told the tale when we were out drinking, despite Richard's pleas to not talk about it. Richard turned green at that point and heaved into the garbage can.
For over a year afterward, hearing Angelica's voice would make him ill.


"I'm all woman, baby, look at it! Juicy!"


Eventually he moved back to New York - I guess SF is just too diverse.

New York, no doubt, is a far nicer place. So calm, so peaceful.
So civilized.

To a limited extent, I can sympathize.
I too have seen the worst of Angelica.
One weekend I went downtown to do some work at the office. Passing a doorway on Battery Street, I heard a strange flappy sound behind shopping carts and the cardboard wall that had been put up. So I looked over.

Angelica was sitting in the entrance, with her legs spread, mother naked and grinning, happily slapping her long breasts from side to side.