Amateur Night in Substance Abuse Land

My old job had me walking through the Tenderloin at 5 a.m., when most of the people on the streets are hardcore addicts. They shuffle listlessly or argue with one another about who owed whom for the last piece of crack. They don't even bother much with the sentient beings passing through, unless they're coherent enough to beg for a dollar.

My new job puts me out on the streets at midnight, walking through the Tenderloin at 1 a.m.. Friday night is amateur hour for substance abusers. The amateurs still have enough money and brain cells to cause bigger trouble. A cheery drunk, playing with two beer bottles on MUNI decides to bash them together, shattering glass all over the seats. Was the taxi van stopped in the street (at a corner where the junkies usually hang out), or did he slam on his brakes to avoid a teetering crackhead? Regardless, an economy car behind him was going so fast that the entire hood is now under the rear wheels of the taxi, and an SUV swerving to miss the economy car now has its front end through the large plate glass hotel front window.

These are not the docile daily drug users. This is the Friday night amateur hour.