Of all the dumbass shit I’ve ever heard, this takes the cake: “This is a change in how our stores look, not in who we are."
That’s what Philz Coffee’s CEO said, after he was confronted with outrage because the chain has ordered the removal of all Pride flags from its stores.
So let me get this straight: Philz prohibits the display of LGBTQ signs or symbols. Then, when gay-friendly people have the nerve to suggest that Philz is engaging in classic homophobia, the CEO says, No, not really. We’re still the same gay-friendly store we’ve always been. It’s just that we’ve prohibited gay-friendly signs.
That makes sense. Right?
Well, Mr. CEO, I’m not buying it. For your own reasons, you’re going along with the Trump-MAGA homophobia that has been so destructive to America. For that reason, I stopped by Philz on Lakeshore yesterday and told the barista—whom I like, and suspect is either Lesbian or bi—that I will no longer patronize Philz. I added that it wasn’t anything personal, in case she thought it was. She didn’t seem at all surprised. I suspect that lots of people have been going in to Philz and saying the same thing.
I urge all of you to please boycott Philz until they reverse this horrendous policy and apologize for it. You won’t be missing much, anyway, since they don’t make espresso, which means no cappuccino, no latte, no macchiato, no Americano. We cannot sit idly by while this hatred goes down in our city, especially in the middle of the city’s official LGBTQ district!
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If you allow it, they will come
The block beneath the I-580 freeway that stretches along Grand Avenue, between MacArthur Boulevard and Lake Park Avenue, by the Grand Lake Theater, once again is befouled by a massive tent encampment, along with signature piles of refuse and human waste. It’s the worst it’s been in years, despite being in a highly visible and sensitive location. The city used to clean it up every once in a while, in response to complaints from local businesses and the public, but now they let the mess grow unabated. Which is why I call this post “If you allow it, they will come.”
These encampments are like a mold infestation. Unless you stamp it out immediately, it spreads. The unhoused population has a great grapevine communication network: they know exactly when and where the heat is on, and when it’s on, they stay away. Unfortunately, someone called the heat off on this stretch of Grand Avenue. We don’t know who, we don’t know why, but it’s in Carroll Fife’s district, so come to your own conclusion.
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An American Man in Trader Joe’s
After I left Philz I stopped by Trader Joe’s for some shopping. I was wearing my green Neighbors Together t-shirt, which Seneca Scott had given me years ago, before he went off the rails. Then a dude, whom I didn’t know, stopped me and said, “What’s that shirt supposed to be about?”
I sized him up. He was a big guy, White, overweight, about fifty, and hostile. Looking for a fight? I was thinking fast. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really know what the shirt means. Someone gave it to me.” I was dissembling, of a sort. All this, with a disarming smile.
We got to chatting. I was looking for a way out but didn’t want to further alienate the guy. It costs nothing to be polite. He started in on a rant against Oakland: the violence, crime, homeless people, filth. There was real bitterness in his voice, although I still hadn’t ruled out the possibility of him slamming me if he thought I said the wrong thing. I listened to him rant, then said, “And yet—”
He knew where it was going. “Yeah, I still live here. All these assholes say if I don’t like it I should leave, but some of us aren’t rich. I can’t afford to leave.” He had just confided something very personal, which indicated a growing level of trust.
“We’re on the same page, man,” I said. “I’d leave Oakland if I could afford it.” Which is a true statement. But the guy wasn’t finished. He often wanted to hit people, he confided, because he’s so angry. He never had, yet. But a slap wasn’t the same thing as a fist to the face. He might start slapping people, he said.
“No violence,” I replied. “That’s partly what this shirt means.”
After that the guy relaxed. We chatted a bit more, did a fist bump, and parted, both of us saying “Nice to meet you.” I thought about the guy a lot, am still thinking about him. A sad wreck of a man, trapped in a place he doesn’t want to be, slowly being crushed by an economy that doesn’t work for people like him: White older men. Probably a Trump voter. He sees the town he once liked enough to move here turning into an outhouse, and with it, his power and pride, dribbling down the drain. I felt sorry for him, even as I prayed he would never, ever slap anyone. Yet I understood where he was coming from. He might even have been a veteran. There’s a lot of guys in America like him; they put Trump into the White House twice. And we—all of us—are going to have to figure out how to deal with them, how to calm them down and make them feel heard and loved, because if we don’t—well, you know.
Have a fantastic, safe weekend.
Steve Heimoff