Missing Lynx: Signature Quotes: Holiday Card 2002

“Jesus, it’s going to be another scorcher out there today,” said the radio announcer. “Christmas Eve, and the San Francisco mercury may top 80. That calls for some music...”

Indeed, it was shaping up to be a nasty December day in the City by the Bay. Of course, where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and we were also in the throes of a citywide strike. In this era of labor fighting corporations fighting government, it’s the big interstate and national strikes which draw the attention — dockworkers, airline pilots, and so on — but nothing impacts the nose quite as strongly as a garbage strike.

The strike had been going on all month, and public pressure on City Hall was really getting strong... as were the odors drifting through the Haight. That miasma wasn’t our traditional marine layer of fog. Everywhere you looked, there were overflowing trash cans, mounded high with Hefty bags, Starbucks cups, and assorted street refuse. (Litter, that is; even the human street refuse largely stayed away from these cans.)

I turned off the steep street where our apartment building is and onto the gentler slope of Waller, heading down to Haight and Clayton where my usual breakfast joint is. As I crossed one of the steeply sloping downhill streets, I heard a loud groan of metal and plastic grinding against each other.

San Francisco is notorious for its parking problems, where there are sometimes more cars in the City than legal parking spaces for them. People don’t actually double (and triple) park like in Rome, but the five foot buffer you’re supposed to give around driveways and between cars collapses into five inches. As a result, many people try to squeeze their cars into spaces too small for them, and thus my first thought was that someone was having an unfortunate parking problem, probably an SUV crushing someone else’s front end in slow motion.

But no, that wasn’t what I saw coming down the street. What I saw coming down the street was trash.

Three overstuffed trash bags, piled one on top of the other, were shambling down the middle of the street. The middle one had nasty looking branches poking out of the sides; you should always break those into smaller pieces first. The top one also had a stick or something jabbing through the plastic in the front. The pile of trash bags looked like it was constantly about to fall over, but instead it kind of rolled and slid down the street, leaving a slime trail behind it. With the slope of the street, it was making pretty good progress.

That’s when I noticed the little girl running in front of it. I didn’t pause to consider where this trash creature had come from, nor why the girl didn’t dart to the side, between the densely parked cars where the creature couldn’t follow. (Maybe she had watched too many episodes of Scooby-Doo?) Instead, I just ran out into the street, scooped the girl up, and hollered “Stop!”

Actually, it did. The thing paused a moment, let out another groan of plastic soda bottles being ripped by tin cans, and then slid forward again.

Looking both ways first, the girl and I scrambled across the relatively flat intersection, with the monster following after us. Just after we crossed, a car came speeding down the street — as they often do — and clipped the trash creature’s back side. The collision ruptured the bottom trash bag, sending bits of refuse spewing all over the intersection. There was used Kleenex, banana peels, coffee grounds, and far too many things which really should have been recycled rather than simply thrown away.

Losing mass as it went, the creature continued toward us. The bottom bag soon gave way completely, sending the upper bags crashing to the pavement — thumpity-thump-thump — rolling down the hill toward Haight Street, rupturing and scattering stuff for half a block.

As it fell, the creature gave one last groan, a drawn out howl which sounded curiously like actual words: “Haaaaaappppyyy Biiirrrthdaaaay”

The crash had dispersed everything. Not a bit of garbage was stirring, not even one of the really big rats which live in the tops of the palm trees throughout the City. At the furthest extent down the street, in the middle of the remnants of the top bag, there was a baseball cap adorned with the logo of an Orlando professional basketball team. It was still in good shape, so I couldn’t figure out why anyone would have thrown it away.

As I picked it up, my fingers tingled, and I realized that this was the answer to the creature’s animation: there must have been some magic in that baseball cap I found.

Best wishes for the Holiday Season from Marc Lynx and all the “Missing Lynx” characters.

Click here to return to the main Signature Quotes page

Click here to return to the main Missing Lynx page

	“Jesus, it’s going to be another scorcher out there today,” said the radio announcer. “Christmas Eve, and the San Francisco mercury may top 80. That calls for some music...” “Oh, the weather outside is frightful...” Indeed, it was shaping up to be a nasty December day in the City by the Bay. Of course, where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and we were also in the throes of a citywide strike. In this era of labor fighting corporations fighting government, it’s the big interstate and national strikes which draw the attention — dockworkers, airline pilots, and so on — but nothing impacts the nose quite as strongly as a garbage strike. The strike had been going on all month, and public pressure on City Hall was really getting strong... as were the odors drifting through the Haight. That miasma wasn’t our traditional marine layer of fog. Everywhere you looked, there were overflowing trash cans, mounded high with Hefty bags, Starbucks cups, and assorted street refuse. (Litter, that is; even the human street refuse largely stayed away from these cans.) I turned off the steep street where our apartment building is and onto the gentler slope of Waller, heading down to Haight and Clayton where my usual breakfast joint is. As I crossed one of the steeply sloping downhill streets, I heard a loud groan of metal and plastic grinding against each other. San Francisco is notorious for its parking problems, where there are sometimes more cars in the City than legal parking spaces for them. People don’t actually double (and triple) park like in Rome, but the five foot buffer you’re supposed to give around driveways and between cars collapses into five inches. As a result, many people try to squeeze their cars into spaces too small for them, and thus my first thought was that someone was having an unfortunate parking problem, probably an SUV crushing someone else’s front end in slow motion. But no, that wasn’t what I saw coming down the street. What I saw coming down the street was trash. Three overstuffed trash bags, piled one on top of the other, were shambling down the middle of the street. The middle one had nasty looking branches poking out of the sides; you should always break those into smaller pieces first. The top one also had a stick or something jabbing through the plastic in the front. The pile of trash bags looked like it was constantly about to fall over, but instead it kind of rolled and slid down the street, leaving a slime trail behind it. With the slope of the street, it was making pretty good progress. That’s when I noticed the little girl running in front of it. I didn’t pause to consider where this trash creature had come from, nor why the girl didn’t dart to the side, between the densely parked cars where the creature couldn’t follow. (Maybe she had watched too many episodes of Scooby-Doo?) Instead, I just ran out into the street, scooped the girl up, and hollered “Stop!” Like that was going to work? Actually, it did. The thing paused a moment, let out another groan of plastic soda bottles being ripped by tin cans, and then slid forward again. Looking both ways first, the girl and I scrambled across the relatively flat intersection, with the monster following after us. Just after we crossed, a car came speeding down the street — as they often do — and clipped the trash creature’s back side. The collision ruptured the bottom trash bag, sending bits of refuse spewing all over the intersection. There was used Kleenex, banana peels, coffee grounds, and far too many things which really should have been recycled rather than simply thrown away. Losing mass as it went, the creature continued toward us. The bottom bag soon gave way completely, sending the upper bags crashing to the pavement — thumpity-thump-thump — rolling down the hill toward Haight Street, rupturing and scattering stuff for half a block. As it fell, the creature gave one last groan, a drawn out howl which sounded curiously like actual words: “Haaaaaappppyyy Biiirrrthdaaaay” The crash had dispersed everything. Not a bit of garbage was stirring, not even one of the really big rats which live in the tops of the palm trees throughout the City. At the furthest extent down the street, in the middle of the remnants of the top bag, there was a baseball cap adorned with the logo of an Orlando professional basketball team. It was still in good shape, so I couldn’t figure out why anyone would have thrown it away. As I picked it up, my fingers tingled, and I realized that this was the answer to the creature’s animation: there must have been some magic in that baseball cap I found. Best wishes for the Holiday Season from Marc Lynx and all the “Missing Lynx” characters. Click here to return to the main Signature Quotes page Click here to return to the main Missing Lynx page
	All content © 2002 Marc Lynx