San Francisco’s long and smutty love-hate affair with the automobile recently took several ugly turns. Mayor Gavin Newsom proposed raising the parking meter fines to $60, which would make ours the country’s second highest to New York City. Newsom says “It’s crazy … perverse and absurd,” but that he has no choice because it is a “fundamental reality” that the City doesn’t have the money to keep the Municipal Railway going. Poor Gavin. He meant so well when he started his tenure as mayor, but it now appears he is caught in the political quagmire known as “can’t see the forest for the trees syndrome.” Right under his blind eye is Muni’s general manager, Nathaniel Ford, who raked in $325,452 in salary and “other pay.” How about we fire him, along with the rest of the dead weights holding city jobs? In fact, over 8,000 city employees made over $100,000 each in 2007. Most egregious was the $350,324 paid to county jail nurse Christian Kitchin. He sucked up $216,277 in overtime and $16,785 in that mysterious “other pay,” along with his base salary of $117,262. It seems we could fill the coffers by getting rid of the Fords and Kitchins, and hiring folks at reasonable, realistic rates for a city drowning in debt.
   

To add insult to injury, the head of San Francisco’s Recreation and Park Department, Yomi Agunbiade, wants to install parking meters in Golden Gate Park. He whined that the department already slashed $3.4 million from its budget (including the elimination of several vacant gardening positions), and Mayor Newsom wants the budget cut an additional $2.85 million. Park commissioner Michael Sullivan said that putting parking meters in Golden Gate Park is “the best of bad ideas.” He added that, if it were a choice between firing gardeners and severe program cuts, or raising revenue through “innovative” parking ideas, “we’re going with the parking.” Well, I have a great way to reduce spending for them, too. How about getting rid of the workers who I see sleeping in their city vehicles in the middle of the park while I’m walking Jasmine Blue? She nearly scared a guy to death once running up to his truck, barking. It’s as if she were saying, “Hey, wake up you loser and pull some weeds! You’re wasting the City’s money!”
   

My other idea for filling the coffers is for the police to start actually ticketing rogue bicyclists who refuse to follow traffic laws. I came up with the idea while I patiently waited my turn at a four-way stop. Like a bat out of hell, a bicyclist flew through the intersection with nary a look. There happened to be a cop behind me, and I checked my rearview mirror, expecting him to sound the sirens, flash the lights and chase down the errant violator. No such luck. About three months ago, the same thing happened at a red light on Presidio, only the violator was in a car. The cop behind me that time chased him down so fast your head would spin. Ka-ching!
   

Over lunch at Grandeho’s Kamekyo restaurant in Cole Valley, I told Northside San Francisco travel writer  Patty Burness my story and my idea. I mentioned to her that, not only did bicyclists consistently break traffic laws, they managed to be rather smug when doing so. There are some law-abiding bicyclists, but as my law-abiding, bike-riding friend pointed out, “It’s a case of one good apple in a spoiled bunch.” For those rogue two-wheelers who want to send me hate mail, I have just two words: Critical Mass. Just because you think you’re saving the planet doesn’t give you the right to interfere with the rights of law-abiding, auto-driving citizens. As my friend likes to say, “I don’t ride a bike to save the planet, I ride a bike because I can’t afford a car.” I have a feeling he’s not alone.
   

In one of the best episodes of the always raunchy, and sometimes hilarious cartoon, South Park, Kyle’s father buys a “Toyunda Pious,” and tries to harass the rest of South Park into seeing the light. When the town doesn’t, he packs up the family, and flees to San Francisco to be among like-minded “progressives” who also drive hybrids and are followed by a “cloud of smug.” I see that same cloud of smug flying from the spokes of many bicyclists as they zip through their illegal left turns from the right lane through a red light at the intersection of Bush and Van Ness.
   

As Patty and I finished up our hamachi nigiri, a mop-headed twenty-something approached our table.

“I was really offended by what you were saying about bicyclists,” he said, a cloud of smug wafting from his black backpack. I informed him that the conversation didn’t include him. “It’s a small restaurant and I could hear you,” he continued. “It would be like me sitting there saying, ‘nigger, nigger, nigger.’” His friend, several steps behind him, squinted his eyes as if someone were flicking him in the nose with their finger; he wasn’t in pain but he was definitely uncomfortable. So were the other 10 or so people in the restaurant.
   

“Please tell me that you are not comparing the prejudice you face as a bicyclist in San Francisco to the prejudice faced by African Americans,” I pleaded, barely able to contain my amazement.
   

“The way people like you feel about us is like racism,” he said stoically. For one of the first times in my life, I was speechless. As he walked out the door, the smug cloud trailing behind him along with his embarrassed friend, I realized that the conclusion of my editor’s note had fallen right into my lap, along with some sushi rice. I am not sure I’ve ever heard anyone say anything so smug, so absurd, so arrogant. Too bad we can’t give tickets for smug, absurd arrogance – the City coffers would runneth over, or at least enough to cover the absurd salaries of those sleeping gardeners, Muni execs and jailhouse nurses.

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