Throwdown in suburban San Francisco

Walk down San Francisco's West Portal, which is on the, uh, west side of the city, and you will pass pretty much everything you need to survive: a bookstore, a music store, a movie theatre, a hardware store, ice cream, grocery stores (with well-stocked beer sections), restaurants, bars, cleaners, electronics, pet grooming, pet accessories, shoe repair, hair care. I've made my point. So much to see yet no reason to visit.

There is also coffee in the form of Peets and Starbucks. I recently had some time to kill during one of my many jaunts down the street and for some reason decided that getting a cup of coffee would be infinitely more responsible than a pint at the Irish pub. So Peets or Starbucks? The former is a bit small for my liking, with tables shoved between the window and the counter. And it being San Francisco in the summer, it was too cold to sit outside.

I chose Starbucks. Whatever. It's roomy. And on a Tuesday evening, it couldn't have been crowded, what with all the suburban dinners surely in the oven and ready to eat. I was wrong. It was packed, save for the three spots available at the counter-like table that lined the window.

On the floor, slightly obscuring the chair I wanted to sit on, was a yellow wet-floor sign. No matter. I moved it to the side and, with my little cup of coffee, took my spot at the window. And here is where it gets a bit tricky.

A seemingly innocuous woman with her face planted firmly in her laptop's screen sat on the left side of the counter. Her bags were on the chair next to her. There was a vacant chair next to me, but I put my bag on the counter. For a few minutes she and I sat like this at opposite ends working on our respective projects. I had a notebook open and was staring out the window. Productive.

A man soon came up behind me. I turned to see him gesturing at my bag, which, you recall, was on the table. I gladly moved it to the floor. After all, that's where it belonged. He then turned his attention to the nice-looking lady.

"May I use this chair?" he asked in a thick Russian accent, pointing to the chair on which her bags sat.

"No, my bags are there."

Seriously. She told the guy that he couldn't use the chair because her bags were on it. I stopped concentrating on the random passersby through the window and instead locked my gaze on the tree in front of me, so I could concentrate on their exchange.

"But your bags-- they can go on the floor."

"Use that chair," she said pointing at the one next to me.

"I have a friend coming. And chairs are for people to sit on."

He wasn't wrong.

"I don't care!" Seriously. She started to raise her voice. In the West Portal Starbucks. "I'm not putting my bags on the floor just so you can sit here."

Understandably stunned, the Russian man remained standing. I wasn't looking at him but I could feel him try to make sense of the woman's absurdity.

"Maybe then I can go get that chair and bring it over here. Do you mind?"

"I don't care!"

A short game of musical chairs ensued. He and I finally made eye contact. Our respective gazes said so much. "I am not like her," was the message I tried to send him with my eyes. "For she is a crazy woman."

Two vacant chairs were now to my left and the man, who seemed to relish in exposing her lunacy, began to play with her plug on the baseboard. Crazy's plug was in the outlet on the top. His plug would not fit in the outlet on the bottom. He wanted to move hers so he could plug in his device. In a West Portal Starbucks, this shouldn't be a problem.

"Do you mind if I swap your plug with mine?" he asked. Oh god.

"Would you leave my stuff alone??!" She erupted. Seriously. It was as though her voice were a car that suddenly sped up to make the red light. Bam! "You're really pissing me off!"

Every Starbucks patron stopped what they're doing and looked at them. The Russian dude's like, what the hell? I'm concentrating on nothing out the window and hoping this continues to escalate while being slightly afraid of what she might do.

"I'm only asking if I can swap plugs because mine won't fit under yours." And now it's just like a kid taunting a hungry lion with a slab of raw meat.

"You're pissing me off!" Yeah, she kept saying it. "Go get someone who works here to deal with your shit cuz you're pissing me off!!"

Train wreck.

The guy had two choices: continue the shouting match (which I was hoping for) or just give up and sit down and show her his ass. He picked the second option, but not before he relayed his plan to her: "I will show you my ass." Really. He said that.

His friend soon arrived and managed to work his way into the small space next to me. The two men began speaking to one another in Russian, which for some reason pissed her off even more. Because by now we all know this is about Crazy. She got on her cell and began to speak in a voice that would outdo her opponents:

"They're sitting right here like assholes shouting to each other just to piss me off."

Yep. Just to piss her off. I left 10 minutes later after I was sure there would be no more fighting.