Nasty Old Bastard and random Crack Fiend:Or 'I left my lunch in San Francisco!'

I'll keep it short and sweet. (Maybe.) A nasty man decided that his lazy ass was too stupid to walk 20 feet to a bathroom. Apparently there is a sign on my work truck that says "Urinal". Let me set it up for you. I actually hauled my carcass to work today(1/12/05), and played driver for Hubby. (Double WOW for him since A: I HATE DRIVING THAT LARGE BEHEMOTH OF A TRUCK IN SAN FRANCISCO, and B: I despise parking the truck in San Francisco.) Anyway, on with my story: I back into the alley way behind the Palace Hotel so we can deliver some equipment to their receiving area. Hubby goes in to scope out delivery site, and I sit in truck to wait. I am in PLAIN sight (if the lame man had decided to look up ). Out of the corner of my eye I notice there is a man standing near my rear tire. Bloody Hell! THE DIRTY BASTARD IS PISSING ON MY TRUCK. Mind you, people are passing through this alleyway (more of a small street) as this is happening. I will not repeat EXACTLY what I yelled at him. Suffice it to say I called him a 'Dirty Bastard', asked him 'What the F@#% do you think you are doing?', scared several passers by and onlookers, while shocking even myself by the volley of epithets I spewed at him. Some of which I had no idea I knew. I would have made a sailor blush. A bike messenger shouted to him in his language, since he pretended that he could not understand me. The nasty little man then shook his 'business' , zippered up, told me to have a nice day and walked off. To top it off, a lady stood in front of the service elevator as we were going down (you know, those creepy metal death contraptions that disappear into the sidewalk) and lights up a crack pipe. Not only do I have the joy of inhaling the putrid scent of pee and filth, crack smoke is wafting around above my head as I pray that the machines are not taxing the ancient 'elevator'. She then has the gall to ask if we can lend her a pen and some change. Picture looking up, and seeing a woman who resembles Tom Petty croaking something about a pen and spare change. Yeah lady. You can keep the pen. I really don't want it back. Maybe I should have given her some money and had her guard my truck from being marked by 2 legged dogs. God, I love San Francisco. *Insert sarcasm here*. I swear to you, the crazy things I've seen as an EMT working San Francisco back in the day, did not shock me half as much as these two winners did. I must be getting soft. I'd much rather see the man running down the street away from SF General Hospital connected to a IV pump and pole, bare butt booty nekked with only a hospital gown on. And THAT, dear reader, sums up my day.