At long last, the evil censors are being exposed. Any human,
with a minimum of three brain cells, knows what has been going on for the past
several years. (Actually for much longer, but that’s for another day.) Voices
in opposition to government policies have been suppressed, canceled, and
vilified. But then along came Elon and the narrative is changing. Free Speech is
making a comeback and the world owes a debt of gratitude to the electric car/rocket
guy.
If I had a strong enough telescope, I could just about see Twitter
headquarters from my adobe in the East Bay. So why wasn’t I over there getting
a scoop on the goings on?
For one, I had not been to San Fransico in a few years. This
had nothing to do with the covid fiasco. It had everything to do with not wanting
to put my life on the line to travel on a BART train, and on into the hellhole
that is SF. Even if one does not get robbed, mugged, or harassed on the train,
it is not a pleasant trip. Nasty cars, piercing, squealing wheels, disgusting
air. However, in the name of journalism, I decided to go forth and report.
The first hurdle would be to find a parking space at the
BART station. It used to be that you had to arrive no later than 6 AM to find a
spot. Generally, after 10 AM a few spaces became available. To my surprise,
there were plenty of open spaces and I bet there had been all morning.
I noticed that the train, like the parking lot, was rather
empty, which had never been my experience on a weekday. Fortunately for me, the
ride from the East Bay to the Civic Center station was uneventful. Not one
drunk, drug addict, or ill-behaved individual.
Once I exited the station and went above ground to Market
Street, I took in the City. It felt so different than anywhere else in the huge
metropolis that is the SF Bay Area. It feels like a city, is the only way to
explain it. And although it was cold as all get-out, the sun was shining, and I
briefly remembered what a glorious city San Francisco had once been.
The theme of emptiness continued as I made my way to Twitter
HQ. I had never been to the City during the week when the streets were not fairly
filled with pedestrians, cars, busses, and bicycles. Very odd, indeed.
I strolled by a group of workers repairing a sidewalk and
got a nose-full of porta-potty fumes. When my nose still burned a block later,
I realized the stench was coming from all the piss on the streets. From my morning
excursion, I can state with authority that every single inch of San Francisco
sidewalks are saturated in urine. I suppose I’m lucky I didn’t see any piles of
poop and also avoided any needles.
The glorious Mayan-inspired, Art Deco building, (rather
trashed by the unattractive Twitter sign), beckoned me. I walked along the
front of the building but only saw an entrance to a high-end grocery shop. I
turned left at the corner, walked along the side of the building, and still no
entrance. Back on Market, I asked a couple of guys doing city security how the
heck I was supposed to get into Twitter. They pointed down the street to the entrance
to the lobby of the building, which was not for Twitter, but they could direct
me. Western Furniture Exchange Building
Two well-dressed young men manned the reception desk. This
was old San Fransico; class all the way. Back when I was a kid, I remember the
elevators in I. Magnin’s, were operated by ladies in taupe uniforms, white
gloves, and white sticks that they used to coral the riders. I miss those days.
When I asked about how to get to the Twitter entrance, one
of the men pointed me in the direction of the Twitter gatekeeper around the
corner. I almost missed her. My mind had gone back a few decades and I was
searching for a carefully attired matron. I had momentarily forgotten that high-tech
dress code is not the same as the men at reception.
She was very kind, soft spoken, and there was no way I was
getting that lobby tour. From where I stood, I couldn’t even see a sign
indicating the entrance that I searched for.
So, back out on the street, I again walked down the side of
the building and turned left into a walkway that separated the historic
building from a new one. Astroturf and a firepit sat off to one side, and then
I saw it. The famous Twitter lobby. No wonder I couldn’t find it at the address
given. It’s in the new building to the rear.
I walked over to the massive front glass panels and doors
and waved to the young man at reception. As with the men at the first building,
this one also dressed in a suit and tie. Classy. He walked over and I asked if
I could come in. I’m not at all sure he could hear me, but it was obvious the
door would not be opened. I smiled and mimed if it would be all right to take
pictures. I think he said OK. Or at least he didn’t send out security to stop
me. Yet another polite, kind front desk person.
I sent the lobby photo to a friend the next day. He asked if
that was where Elon had arrived with a sink. Son of a gun! I hadn’t even
realized that when I was there. It was a different angle, and it was rather too
cold to think properly, so I’ll stick with that as my excuse.
Although I didn’t get the lobby tour or get to personally
thank Elon and his crew for doing the work to save the world, I felt pleased
that I’d at least made the effort.
Walking back down Market St towards the BART station, I
noticed one of the historic electric line cars. A while back, San Francisco
purchased vintage electric streetcars from all over the world and run them on a line from
downtown to the Embarcadero Pier. They are glorious!
SF Historic Streetcars
All the cars have their place of origin somewhere on the
side. I saw that this one was from the El Paso – Juarez line. It seemed appropriate
as El Paso is in the news every day. It saddened me to think that at one time they
were sister cities. Commerce between the two ran non-stop. I thought about all
those people, all those years ago, who used to travel back and forth between
cities and countries, and it was as normal as catching a bus downtown.
My, how the world has changed.
