Hostel in the Mission

What would compel anyone to live in such squalid conditions? I went to a house party this past weekend and experienced a level of self-induced poverty I never knew existed in San Francisco. The woes of being hipster.

I entered a warehouse-like building and was met by a long wooden staircase. Everything seems normal enough so far. However the top of the stairs open up to a hallway filled with trinkets and weird objects living the floor and walls. The wooden floor is stained by rotting wood. There are fashion mannequins propped against someone’s door. I don’t know what compelled me to use the bathroom at this point, but venturing forward I saw a cramped communal kitchen filled with hipster druggies. Gods only know what they were consuming. A bit further, I came upon the restroom. I walked in to find exposed nails from the walls and a mysterious nook where which I assume a water heater was once housed? I peed quickly. I wouldn’t put it past this place to have peepholes lining the shadows.

I went back out to join the rest of my friends who had found the party in the communal space. I walked through this dingy hallway for what seemed like an eternity, encountering drunkards strewn about the place. One man left his door open. I peeked in and found that his bedroom also doubled as a belt-making workshop. Where did he sleep? Who knew. Perhaps the leather accessories hanging from the ceiling helped lull him to slumber. The place is full of mysteries I will never come to understand.

I continued and found the entrance to the party. I had to walk through a communal workshop of some sort. I can’t even begin to describe what this area was used for, but it resembled a carpentry workshop. Did people build things here? Or did they sleep here? I was boggled. Regardless, I had to climb out of a window in order to reach a communal roof patio where the party was held.

I will admit that this commune was pretty cool looking. There were Christmas lights hung across the ceiling. Hammocks were set up as well as some BBQ equipment. I glanced at my periphery to find that in order to reach this space, you could have crawled out through a number of other windows – some of which led to straight up people’s bedrooms. I had the liberty of then peering into the party host’s room and discovered that it was a tiny, tiny dorm-sized box only fit for one twin bed, a bookcase, and a closet. How much did she pay for rent? I wasn’t able to nail down an exact amount, but I’m damn sure over $800. No way would I commit any more than $300 on a place like this.

The vibe was fun, but the conditions were absolutely not. Who would choose to live in a place like this? They must be really into the freaky or have a very high tolerance to the insane. Yet all in all, this was the epitome of a San Francisco experience that I wouldn’t have traded for the world. Although it did annoy me for quite some time.