SoMa Literary Review - The Supervisor's Tail

The Supervisor's Tail

By Carol Jermain

Episode 2 - The $600 Suit!

"I curse yea all! Yea evil polluting metal devils!" Voodoo Man shouted as he stood in the middle of Division Street shaking his Pepsi can and pebbles talisman.

The rain turned from a mere downpour into a raging waterfall, aided by the gush of runoff from the suspended highway above. In the darkness of late evening, and sheathed in a drenched plastic trash bag, Voodoo Man and his rants remained nearly invisible, until it was too late.

Too late for the driver of the emerald-colored SUV.

"Oh me God" was all Voodoo Man could get out as his body shot into the air from the impact. He was dead as soon as he hit the thick steel column that held the highway into the air. The driver of the SUV paused for only enough time to make sure no one had seen, then drove off into the black oblivion of the deserted SoMa streets.

***

"This is awful," Susan said as she handed Chris Weakly the morning Chronicle. "A poor homeless man died the other day in the District. A hit and run."

"So?"

"Look at the article. It turns out he was pretty well known. One of the little dotcom companies even adopted the guy. Well, kinda. They gave him their leftovers from catered lunches."

Chris sighed. "Okay. Let’s put out a press release condemning what happened. I assume they have no idea who did this, right?"

"Not a clue. If there was any evidence, it got washed down the drains with the rain that night."

"Fine. Then take this down. Supervisor Chris Weakly expresses his horror over what happened, saying it is yet another example of how greedy developers are ruining South of Market."

"Developers? We don’t know this man died because of developers?"

"Susie, I don’t know how many times I have to explain this to you. Everything wrong with this city is caused by greedy developers. And people who live in lofts. Oh, and dotcoms. If it weren’t for them, we wouldn’t have the homeless problem. Do I have to make this speech again? Geesh! Didn’t you hear it enough during the election?"

He turned out of the office and headed down the hall to make his way to the Supervisors’ chambers. It had only been four weeks since he was elected, and Weakly was already bored by the sessions. One of the re-elected supervisors had taught him a little trick to use during the public comment allotments. It was a celebrity name puzzle he could play in his head that would easily amuse him for the full three minutes, while all along making it look like he was passionately listening to what was being said from the citizen podium.

George Bush, Bruce Willis, Warren Buffett, Barry Bonds…

He felt a tug on the sleeve of his new $600 suit. A gift from a grateful constituent.

"Mr. Weakly?"

"Yes, what can I do for you?" Chris turned with his now well-rehearsed smile. Before him stood an attractive blonde in an impeccably cut blue designer dress. Now this is a change, he thought. Since getting into office he’d become used to being lobbied while walking down hallways, but he was almost always pulled aside by some unwashed neo-hippie whose purpose reeked almost as much as his body odor.

"I was hoping I could ask you about the plan to get rid of Tenants in Common."

"I really have to get to the chamber."

"I know, but…"

"Who are you? Are you a lobbyist for some real estate association?"

"Oh, no. Not at all! I’m Alice Bates. I live in District 6. I voted for you."

"Well, thank you for that." Chris smiled more sincerely this time. She was, after all, quite beautiful. Petite with blue eyes and perfectly straight white teeth that betrayed a periodontal-enhanced upbringing that surely included some sort of private schooling. Maybe boarding school. All girls. Those slumber parties. He was drifting off into a slight daydream, lulled by her charms.

Gwyneth Paltrow, Pamela Anderson, Anna Nicole Smith, Seven of Nine…

Getting rid of Tenants in Common was a cornerstone of the Weakly Plan, as he referred to it with staff. The provision allowed homebuyers to legally pool their resources to purchase buildings they would otherwise not be able to afford individually. While it sounded like a good idea, the alternative press demonized TIC as a way to evict poor, working class families. The renters. The renters whose cause he took up to get elected. The anti-establishment platform that would be his political ladder.

Getting rid of TICs would take some work. A ballot initiative to kill TICs got rejected by voters during the election. The same election that brought him to power. More than one asshole newspaper reporter had asked him how in the world he could say voters were stupid for the way they voted on TIC, when those same voters on the same ballot elected Weakly. If he accepted their vote for him, didn’t he have to accept their vote equally on other matters?

Maybe in Cleveland. Not in San Francisco, Weakly knew. Voters also rejected a ban on lofts, but he easily got that passed.

"I’m with a group called Lesbians for Fair Housing," Alice said.

Weakly frowned inside.

"We weren’t sure if you understood how important TIC is to the gay community. Because we can’t get married, TICs are how gay couples are able to legally own property together. If you get rid of TICs, what are we supposed to do?"

Chris had wondered when the gay agenda would strike. After all, the new board was bent heterosexual for the first time since the Dan White days.

"You bring up a very good point," he said, remarkably able to look interested. "And you’re in luck. Today is when The Board has time for public comments. Make sure you get on the sign up sheet. I promise to give you three minutes of my undivided attention."

When he entered the chamber and took his seat the room was still in its pre-meeting chaos, with the audience and other supervisors still mulling about. Chris looked across the room and saw a man in a blue jumpsuit and matching cap standing near the door. He waved him over.

"Hey, Mr. Weakly. Here are the keys to your Explorer. All ready to go. I left it parked on the other side of the library, like you asked me to."

"Great. How much do I owe you?"

"It was just a couple of broken lights in the front. And we were able to touch up the paint without having to do the whole section all over. We got a perfect match on that emerald green. It was no problem. My boss says it’s no charge."

"Well, I can’t do that. I have to pay something."

"That’s between you and him."

The man jumped away as soon as the board president banged his gavel to call the meeting to order.

Alan Greenspan, Garth Brooks, Bob Dole, Dick Cheney…

Related Link: Episode One: Voodoo Man