The Tenderloin is rarely peoples' first choice when it comes to San Francisco neighborhoods to call home. Most people want to live in a nice apartment in Cole Valley or Inner Richmond, or if they're willing to chop off and sell their body parts, perhaps a contemporary high rise in SoMa or a gorgeous victorian in Russian Hill. The Mission, while still very much the Mission, has become gentrified, and North Beach for some reason has always just felt completely out of reach unless you've inherited an incredible amount of, um, luck. Chinatown is bustling and eclectic, but should you manage to find a place there, you're usually crammed into a glorified doll house that an Asian family of 6 would somehow manage to live comfortably in. Over the last couple decades, San Francisco rent has skyrocketed and pushed many of its residents out to the East Bay, or out of the Bay Area entirely. But one neighborhood has managed to avoid the gentrification and hold onto its cultural roots that make it what it is. This is due to many underlying reasons, but one major reason in particular, which this Reddit user points out better than I'd like to attempt explaining:
In a nutshell, the Tenderloin CAN'T change. So it's remained the same glorious, shit-ridden homeless mecca that it's always been. This gives the TL a terrible reputation because on the surface, it is indeed fucking disgusting. But in my experience, it's common for people to misunderstand dirtiness for danger. Now, I'm not naive; I don't pretend that there aren't elements of the Tenderloin that are in fact dangerous. Crime DOES happen there. Crazy, untrustworthy people DO live there. But what I will say is that those things exist literally EVERYWHERE in a city. If you don't have your wits about you in the Tenderloin, you can absolutely get mugged. But contrast that with the fact that if you don't have your wits about in Potrero, you'll more likely absolutely get shot. And straight up just fuck walking alone in Oakland after dark. Simply put, any area of a city is dangerous if you're a dumbass. I'm knocking on wood as I write this, but I managed to live in the TL at the tender, stupid age of my-early-twenties, and nothing that bad ever happened to me, which is why I felt totally comfortable moving there again, despite it's seedy, poopy reputation. That's not to say that I won't be smartening up and equipping myself with a stun gun and a knife, I just don't anticipate having to use it in the TL as much as I would elsewhere.
All that said, I thought I'd compile a list of slightly more lighthearted tips for someone living in the Tenderloin for the first time. Robin has only ever walked through the Tenderloin once, while drunk with me and two other girls, and we were up the hill enough on Geary that I'm not sure he's really gotten to *experience* it yet. I know he'll like it, because he loved Allston (different but similar in some ways), and because it's central, and because if you want to jump head first into the cultural anomalies of San Francisco, what better place to do it than the good ol' Tenderloin.
All that said, I thought I'd compile a list of slightly more lighthearted tips for someone living in the Tenderloin for the first time. Robin has only ever walked through the Tenderloin once, while drunk with me and two other girls, and we were up the hill enough on Geary that I'm not sure he's really gotten to *experience* it yet. I know he'll like it, because he loved Allston (different but similar in some ways), and because it's central, and because if you want to jump head first into the cultural anomalies of San Francisco, what better place to do it than the good ol' Tenderloin.
1. Always look down.
Literally. This is literally to avoid poop. When you're walking in the TL, you cannot look around above you until you know what is around below you. An amateur comedian in SF has a great bit about how tourists who take a wrong turn exploring Union Square end up in the Tenderloin, and walk around like they're Indiana Jones in the Temple of Doom. Alternatively, seasoned veterans of the Tenderloin walk around those sidewalks like they're Michael Jackson on stage doing the god damn moonwalk, shuffling over and around and in and out of literal piles of shit like they're the King of Pop. I find this bit to be a perfectly accurate description of what it's like to walk in the TL. At any moment of realization, you have to be ready to shift the entire weight of your body to avoid taking the step you were about to take. Maybe you'll stumble or step awkwardly, but at least you won't have poo on your shoes.
This comes with a disclaimer. I want you to know that if you live in the Tenderloin, eventually, you WILL step in shit. It is unavoidable. It is an inevitable and unfortunate part of this life. It has happened to every single one of us and friend, it will happen to you too. Consider it a right of passage. Try not get angry, just accept that we've all experienced it, and now you're one of us too. Welcome home, friend.
This comes with a disclaimer. I want you to know that if you live in the Tenderloin, eventually, you WILL step in shit. It is unavoidable. It is an inevitable and unfortunate part of this life. It has happened to every single one of us and friend, it will happen to you too. Consider it a right of passage. Try not get angry, just accept that we've all experienced it, and now you're one of us too. Welcome home, friend.
2. When the homeless say hi to you, Say. Hi. Back.
I can't stress this one enough. I wholeheartedly believe that part of the reason I never got fucked with in the years I lived in the Tenderloin was because the homeless people who live there knew I wasn't some asshole looking down on them as I rushed back to my apartment. When they spoke to me, I spoke to them back. I like to call this by a very complex ideology that is far above the heads of many people in this world, called "General Human Decency." Seriously- the people in the Tenderloin are just that: people, and usually they appreciated being treated as such. Don't you?
I've found that actually many many MANY of the homeless people in the TL are incredibly friendly. I attribute my amazing relationship with Patrick to my openness to speaking when spoken to. Because Patrick knew I was good people, other residents of the streets knew I was good people. It's a wild concept, really: I was nice to people and they were nice to me back. Sure, there are plenty of people passed out in the middle of the sidewalk with their pants around their ankles, and plenty of people frantically scratching their welts as they pick through the sidewalks for loose crack; you don't need to talk to these people. You don't need to talk to everybody, but just try, I implore you, TRY to talk to the people who talk to you. If somebody says "Have a nice day," say "You as well," or simply "Thank you." If you ignore them, if you remain invisible, they won't remember you at a time when you might need them to. Patrick helped me to realize that they truly are people just as anyone else is; at some point their lives took a different turn and they ended up here. They're not all drug addicts or gang members or likely to rob you to get their next fix. To most of them it is simply about survival, and interestingly enough, some of them don't seem to mind it at all. I know for a fact that Patrick is smart enough, well-mannered enough, and has enough wits about him to shape up his life, get a job, a home, etc. He COULD do it, if he wanted to. But he remains here in the Tenderloin where he's been for decades now, somewhere between Leavenworth and Larkin, just as humble, kind, generous, and content as ever.
The other day I was walking with the leasing agent who ended up selling me on the apartment I moved into yesterday. We met up at a tiny studio on Turk and Hyde, one of the worst intersections in the TL. The studio looked a bit small and I wasn't crazy about the corner (we'll get to that later), so I asked her if there was anything available in the Towers (a block up and over). She said she had something in my price range so we began walking together. On our way there, a friendly homeless man began walking beside us, and he greeted us with a friendly "How y'all doing today, ladies?" Not in a creepy way, just in a friendly way, like he actually cared to know. I acknowledged his gesture and responded (feeling genuinely good as I usually do when I walk through the TL), "Very well today, man, thanks, and you?" He continued to smile and walk with us for the remainder of the block, having friendly small talk along the way. The leasing agent remained silent and let me do the talking, which I handled as though I'd known this homeless person for years of my life. "You ladies look lovely today, I hope you have a wonderful day," he said, as we began to part ways. I thanked him and he said, "ya see there's still nice people in the world!" to which I responded, "Yeah; most of 'em are in the Tenderloin."
I've found that actually many many MANY of the homeless people in the TL are incredibly friendly. I attribute my amazing relationship with Patrick to my openness to speaking when spoken to. Because Patrick knew I was good people, other residents of the streets knew I was good people. It's a wild concept, really: I was nice to people and they were nice to me back. Sure, there are plenty of people passed out in the middle of the sidewalk with their pants around their ankles, and plenty of people frantically scratching their welts as they pick through the sidewalks for loose crack; you don't need to talk to these people. You don't need to talk to everybody, but just try, I implore you, TRY to talk to the people who talk to you. If somebody says "Have a nice day," say "You as well," or simply "Thank you." If you ignore them, if you remain invisible, they won't remember you at a time when you might need them to. Patrick helped me to realize that they truly are people just as anyone else is; at some point their lives took a different turn and they ended up here. They're not all drug addicts or gang members or likely to rob you to get their next fix. To most of them it is simply about survival, and interestingly enough, some of them don't seem to mind it at all. I know for a fact that Patrick is smart enough, well-mannered enough, and has enough wits about him to shape up his life, get a job, a home, etc. He COULD do it, if he wanted to. But he remains here in the Tenderloin where he's been for decades now, somewhere between Leavenworth and Larkin, just as humble, kind, generous, and content as ever.
The other day I was walking with the leasing agent who ended up selling me on the apartment I moved into yesterday. We met up at a tiny studio on Turk and Hyde, one of the worst intersections in the TL. The studio looked a bit small and I wasn't crazy about the corner (we'll get to that later), so I asked her if there was anything available in the Towers (a block up and over). She said she had something in my price range so we began walking together. On our way there, a friendly homeless man began walking beside us, and he greeted us with a friendly "How y'all doing today, ladies?" Not in a creepy way, just in a friendly way, like he actually cared to know. I acknowledged his gesture and responded (feeling genuinely good as I usually do when I walk through the TL), "Very well today, man, thanks, and you?" He continued to smile and walk with us for the remainder of the block, having friendly small talk along the way. The leasing agent remained silent and let me do the talking, which I handled as though I'd known this homeless person for years of my life. "You ladies look lovely today, I hope you have a wonderful day," he said, as we began to part ways. I thanked him and he said, "ya see there's still nice people in the world!" to which I responded, "Yeah; most of 'em are in the Tenderloin."
3. The good corners, the bad corners, and all the pee in between.
There are intersections in the TL that are better and worse than others. For example, it is generally a good rule of thumb to avoid Jones and Taylor streets. They're just that much nastier than all the other streets, and a common meeting/sleeping ground for the seediest members of the neighborhood. Usually where either of these streets meet up with Turk street are good corners to avoid. There are shelters around these areas and oftentimes when people don't show up early enough to claim a spot in them, they camp outside, which generates a population. Turk and Golden Gate are the perpendicular equivalents to Jones and Taylor, and thus nice to avoid.
Anything above O'Farrell street is usually a safe bet. O'Farrell and Geary are still considered the Tenderloin, but when you walk up one more block to Post, you're entering TenderNob or Nob Hill area. Simply put, the hills start to get steeper the further you go up, and many of the homeless don't have the capacity to climb that high, so the higher you go, the less dense a population of homeless you'll see. I know that when Robin's parent's come to visit, I'll likely take them up Geary and then down Leavenworth. That way I'll expose them to the least amount of grossness so that they won't entirely lose their shit, or step in someone else's. They'll still freak out probably, but the more I can shield them from some of the harsher realities of the Tenderloin, the better.
That said, the lingering stench of pee is another inconvenient truth that eventually your nose will get used to. Your mother's nose will not. Ever. Because she's your mom and you live in a neighborhood that smells like pee and at the moment of your birth she inherited an ability to smell when you're not living the perfect life she had envisioned for you. But oh well. Just hope and pray that when you find your apartment, your lobby isn't carpeted. And if it is, sorry, it's gonna smell like pee. Marissa lives in a beautiful junior 1BR on Geary and Leavenworth. She's one of the classiest girls I've ever met in my life. She's successful and does well for herself. And her lobby smells like pee. In my apartment hunt I was shown a gorgeous studio out of my budget even higher up on the hill on Post, and the lobby smelled like pee. Your actual apartment won't smell like pee, unless you pee all over it, but you'll have to get used to the fact that once you exit, the smell will be there.
On that note and to circle back to Rule #1: Always look down, never assume that any liquid on the sidewalk is water. In fact, if it's in any kind of "stream" form, step over that shit, er, that pee. Yeah, because that's pee. And while stepping in pee isn't nearly as bad as stepping in poop, it's still not on the list of things I want to step in, like a giant penn filled with St. Bernard puppies. Work on your MJ footwork because generally, all bodily functions excreted onto the street are to be avoided.
Anything above O'Farrell street is usually a safe bet. O'Farrell and Geary are still considered the Tenderloin, but when you walk up one more block to Post, you're entering TenderNob or Nob Hill area. Simply put, the hills start to get steeper the further you go up, and many of the homeless don't have the capacity to climb that high, so the higher you go, the less dense a population of homeless you'll see. I know that when Robin's parent's come to visit, I'll likely take them up Geary and then down Leavenworth. That way I'll expose them to the least amount of grossness so that they won't entirely lose their shit, or step in someone else's. They'll still freak out probably, but the more I can shield them from some of the harsher realities of the Tenderloin, the better.
That said, the lingering stench of pee is another inconvenient truth that eventually your nose will get used to. Your mother's nose will not. Ever. Because she's your mom and you live in a neighborhood that smells like pee and at the moment of your birth she inherited an ability to smell when you're not living the perfect life she had envisioned for you. But oh well. Just hope and pray that when you find your apartment, your lobby isn't carpeted. And if it is, sorry, it's gonna smell like pee. Marissa lives in a beautiful junior 1BR on Geary and Leavenworth. She's one of the classiest girls I've ever met in my life. She's successful and does well for herself. And her lobby smells like pee. In my apartment hunt I was shown a gorgeous studio out of my budget even higher up on the hill on Post, and the lobby smelled like pee. Your actual apartment won't smell like pee, unless you pee all over it, but you'll have to get used to the fact that once you exit, the smell will be there.
On that note and to circle back to Rule #1: Always look down, never assume that any liquid on the sidewalk is water. In fact, if it's in any kind of "stream" form, step over that shit, er, that pee. Yeah, because that's pee. And while stepping in pee isn't nearly as bad as stepping in poop, it's still not on the list of things I want to step in, like a giant penn filled with St. Bernard puppies. Work on your MJ footwork because generally, all bodily functions excreted onto the street are to be avoided.
4. It's real. It's very very real.
I remember first moving there and watching the world out the giant window I had on a ground level apartment on Leavenworth between Eddy and Ellis. In polarity with the title of this section, we called my window TL TV, or Tenderloin Television. But what we saw out that window was anything but television. There were times when I first moved to the Tenderloin that I was just purely shocked by what I was witnessing; that peoples' lives really could take turns that would leave them here, doing whatever it was they were doing. Across the street was the unsavory entrance to the Hotel Western, an SRO hotel, which we nicknamed The Gateway to Hell, because it was clear that nobody who entered it was up to anything virtuous. The first times I saw people splayed out across the street with soiled jeans and no shoes, the first times I saw crack being smoked casually on the sidewalk, the first times I saw gang violence (which thankfully seems to have exited the TL since I last resided there), I remember it feeling like a bitter pill that didn't swallow well and got a little stuck on the way down. It was just plain shocking, and at first it was hard. It was saddening, really. It wasn't so much a fear as much as it was a reality check and a sympathetic feeling. You realize there's nothing you can do for these people; nothing that anybody can do for these people, and you wonder how many wrong steps they took on their journey through life to get where they were.
I can't say you ever completely get used to it, but perhaps you get a little jaded to it. It becomes less and less of a shock to you the more you see how common it is, how most people turn and look the other way when they see someone else's reality that makes them uncomfortable. I think it's important to look though. I think it's an important thing to see a part of our world that you've never seen before, and learn from it. Whether you like it or not, this place exists and so do the people in it. It's not television, it's not a fictional world that you can just turn off. Exposing oneself to other cultures is no new thing in the process of "opening your third eye" and discovering the truths of who you are; if American people send themselves on spirit quests to India and Africa to submerge themselves in unfamiliar cultures in an attempt to learn more about themselves, the Tenderloin should be no different just because it's on a different level. In my own experience, I don't think I ever would have gained the insight and the smarts to live unharmed in the 7th, 8th, and 9th Wards of New Orleans had I not spent the time I did in the Tenderloin first.
I can't say you ever completely get used to it, but perhaps you get a little jaded to it. It becomes less and less of a shock to you the more you see how common it is, how most people turn and look the other way when they see someone else's reality that makes them uncomfortable. I think it's important to look though. I think it's an important thing to see a part of our world that you've never seen before, and learn from it. Whether you like it or not, this place exists and so do the people in it. It's not television, it's not a fictional world that you can just turn off. Exposing oneself to other cultures is no new thing in the process of "opening your third eye" and discovering the truths of who you are; if American people send themselves on spirit quests to India and Africa to submerge themselves in unfamiliar cultures in an attempt to learn more about themselves, the Tenderloin should be no different just because it's on a different level. In my own experience, I don't think I ever would have gained the insight and the smarts to live unharmed in the 7th, 8th, and 9th Wards of New Orleans had I not spent the time I did in the Tenderloin first.
I'll leave you with an excerpt from an article written for KQED by someone who shares the same love for what makes the Tenderloin endearing as I do:
| "I know it ain’t easy on the eyes. It’s difficult and uncomfortable to see so many people living in the streets. I mean the TL is the only place I’ve witnessed someone defecating on the street, brazenly tying off their arm to inject drugs at lunchtime, and I’m fairly certain I’ve now inhaled secondhand crack smoke on my morning walk to work, but the TL is also a source of tremendous human kindness. Believe me. It is here that I’ve seen more people willing to help one another, feed one another and look after one another than anywhere else. You’ll find beauty here if you’re willing to see it." |
I've just bravely signed an entire year lease at a new spot on Eddy Street, so I'm sure over the course of the next year (or more?) of living back in the TL, I'll recognize more ways to help my fellow humans survive their stays there and come out with a positive, albeit real opinion. So get out there, don't be an asshole, and don't step in shit.
