UPDATE: Read about the aftermath here…

When you tell people you’ve been “working from home” for the last four months or so, they look at you with the skeptical eye that is only saved for San Franciscans, “It’s totally over-rated” - is my immediate response. And it really is, if not for the fact that there is no place I’d rather be than the comfort of my apartment (well, most of the time).

For the most part, I divide my days between coffee shops (Squat & Gobble / The Grind / Cafe International) and my apartment couch. Now that the Lomography Store is slowly getting up & running, there is enough to do from a solid wireless network and a phone line. Yesterday afternoon was no exception.

People keep asking me - and no, I didn’t smell anything. I didn’t hear anything. The intersection of Fillmore & Haight was its’ usual bustling self around 3:30 PM on a Tuesday… and I was just sitting on my couch, typing up emails and decompressing from a week-long work trip in Austria.

What I did hear was yelling down the hallway, a man’s voice screaming, “Fire! Fire! Everybody out!” and then the sound of the alarm ringing through the building. There was pounding on my door and when I got up and looked out, there were two older men (one I recognized as the owner of Lo-Cost Meat Market across the street and the other a painter who was working on the building) both frantically holding fire extinguishers. It didn’t take long to see that the center of the chaos was right across my hallway; the door was open and thick black smoke was already heavy in their apartment.

That’s the moment. The moment when you can see the avalanche approaching. The fire is at the doorstep. For some reason, my first thought was to lock the door and huddle in the closet furthest from the blaze. But Pierre, our neighborhood butcher, was yelling, “GO! GET OUT!” And that was when I thought, “What do I take?”

It’s one of those absurd questions you hear time & time again - what do you grab when the house is on fire? Let me tell you, it is not a moment born out of deep contemplation but the instant panic of loosing everything. First, my computer. On the couch. Then I turned around, grabbed my cell phone, keys, and finally my LC-A+ sitting on the counter top. The men were screaming louder now and between the knock on the door and me hopping over the broken glass of the fire extinguisher box: 12 seconds.

From emails to barefoot on the sidewalk: 30 seconds. Max. Wearing nothing but pink shorts and a white T-shirt, I looked up to the corner apartment and saw just how bad everything was. People were already gathered with their phones and cameras… there were no fire trucks. I started dialing friends and then my parents. No one tells you how difficult a touch-sensitive phone is to operate when your fingers are shaking.

One woman, Mo, from The Good Fellows recognizes my panic. She guides me to a neighbors’ house, Sandy & Hassam, consoling me that it would be okay. I was alive. It’s just ‘stuff’. I’m in between weeping and thanking her. She sits me on someone’s couch, bay windows overlooking Haight street, fills her palms with water and rubs it on my face. Like watching some awful movie, people are gazing upwards down the street and curls of gray smoke are passing by. There is nothing more infuriating that watching people watch your home get destroyed.

By the time I can get out and a neighbor lends me his size 12 sandals, the fire was on the roof. I can see they’ve knocked out my windows and were weaving the hose through my bedroom to the men on the rooftop. Acknowledging the aptitude of the San Francisco Fire Department, not a single other complex or apartment saw flames lick their walls. I still don’t know how.

The fire was out before night fell and I made my way to my usual homebase bar, Nickies. While the sun set and golden hour dripped along Haight street, I grabbed my LC-A camera, suddenly realizing I had no film. I ran to Rooky Ricardo’s Records, knowing they had a surprising stock of analogue film with Glass Key Photo inside.

I didn’t need to barter. Matt asked me, simply, “Color or black & white”.

“Seems like a black & white kind of day.”

He graciously gave me three rolls of Arista Pro, I loaded up and shot some of my personal nightmare. I’ll be sure to let you know when I get that roll developed.

As night fell, I sent out a tweet for a couple little things I needed. I don’t think I have ever wept out of shock, but when five individual Lower Haight neighbors come bearing everything from sweatpants to granola bars to a couple leftover Valium, I hugged them like family. Never underestimate people. Or your neighbors.

As to the origins of the fire, I know it started in my neighbors’ bedroom. Some are saying it was fireworks and paint laying about. I have my assumptions about the cause of the fire. To me, it seems like sheer negligence and honestly, if any of the tenants had crossed my path last night, they would have met a very different side of me. One who enjoys physical violence. Isn’t that one of the stages of grief? But I digress…

Today, I waded through the rubble. While most everything was covered in ceiling mulch and smokey water, there are still things I can get back. And a lot I probably won’t. But a gratis lunch from Wing Wings ain’t nothing to shun. The moral of the story is that there is no better place to live - through a nightmare or otherwise - than Lower Haight. Straight up.

Alas, thanks to the kindness of strangers, my amazing friends, and my parents who, without fail always seem to pick me up, I’m already moving on. Once I get all this “campfire” smell out of my skin.

Looking on the bright side, at least I wasn’t working from home topless. Or totally pantless. These things are likely when you live alone. Plus, now I get a chance to buy a new couch… I hated that other one (flipped upright in the bottom L photo).

Finally, so many people have been asking me if I need anything, and honestly, I can’t really tell yet. But if you find you’re over-stocked with good books, mid-century furniture, maritime throw pillows, killer records or just have one too many gift cards laying about - here’s the place to send them:

Homeless Tiffy Donation Fund: 309 Sutter Street / San Francisco, CA / 94108

Or check out my fundraiser page for a simple donation to help me find a new place.

Special thanks to Pierre, Mo, Sandy & Hassam, Nate, Ben, Jessie, Brian, Katie, Ron, Matt, Dick, Emma, Attiya, Tracy and Margo.

UPDATE: Read about the aftermath here…