Dare: Face Your Fears (Part Five)

Part I: Eat Something You Haven't Dared to Eat.

When I walked into Crepevine, this dare was the last thing on my mind. I started scanning the menu in my usual fashion, reading the ingredients of each option until I found one that displeased me and hastily skipping to the next prospective dinner. After a minute, I noticed to my dismay that I was nearing the end of the list with only a pittance of meals having survived my rigorous filter. I perked up when I realized that made this the perfect restaurant to try something I wouldn't have dared to eat. Reversing my algorithm to seek out the least tasty item on the menu, I succeeded far more rapidly. The Florentine Savory Crepe contains a total of 3 raw ingredients that I would eat on a less masochistic day: spinach, jack cheese, and the crepe shell itself. They just happened to be the three mildest ingredients and succumb to the villainy of of mushrooms, glazed onions, and, my newfound arch-nemesis, cottage cheese.



I foolishly gulped down all of the tasty carrot juice before starting on the monster crepe, leaving no safety valve by which to wash out the taste.



Just the sight of cottage cheese makes me cringe.



But I would not be deterred.



And though it was painful, I can now say with certainty that I need not taste cottage cheese again for another five years.



Yum incarnate rewarded my conquest.



Part II: Meet Someone You Haven't Dared To Meet.

While I've had a plethora of fantastic opportunities to complete this dare on account of interactions with fellow bus and metro passengers and pedestrians, I make a habit of avoiding carrying my rather expensive camera through one of the less safe neighborhoods of San Francisco. All this to say, that this dare was far more deliberate than the previous one. With my camera swinging against my chest, I rode my bike up and down 3rd Street, which had provided no end of interesting characters unlike most people I typically interact with. After 45 minutes of failures and lacks of courage, I heard a lot of singing and locked my bike to the support of a nearby tree. It turned out the singing was coming from a Baptist Church, but there were some guys chatting in Spanish outside the building next door, so I asked them what that building was. They explained that it was an Alcoholics Anonymous, so I asked if everyone was welcome. They said yes, so I headed in and started chatting with Jorge, who was lounged on half a row of chairs near the back. He opened by asking how my day had been in Spanish, which made me realize that this AA was intended for Spanish speakers.

I explained that I'd had a long day, and he asked where I was from (Alabama) and whether I had problems with alcohol (no) or drugs (also no). "I'm actually just here to meet people," I stammered, to which he shrugged a "that's cool." The service was just starting, and I had a meeting at the same time, so I bailed promising to return next week when I had more time. Jorge informed me it would be same-time, same-place.

I didn't feel like it would've been right to take photographs at an anonymous meeting, so I snapped a shot of the entrance. (I also falsified Jorge's name.)



Part III: Summarize au Haiku.

Cottage of the mind
splurging bitterly enchains
our dour existence.