We've heard about Vayable before—you know, the 'travel experiences' website that enables enterprising Joe Somebodys to offer supposedly authentic tours of their locales. We've seen 'em in action before, first with a tour of Tenderloin homelessness and then again with a $30 wine and cheese insult picnic in Dolores Park. What fun!
It seems Vayable is still in business and there's a new (!!!) tour of Dolores Park: a $25 dollar per-person journey into “The Life of a Hipster.” That's right, noted graphic designer “Stefan” will show you the PBR-soaked ropes of Dolores Park culture, even offering to give you a pair of knock-off Wayfarers to complete your afternoon.
The thing is, I don't trust these tour guides. Anyone offering to give a tour of the park immediately calls the legitimacy of said tour into suspicion. Just look at that picture: not only does that dog not have any tats, but that guy's shorts aren't jorts. And you expect this to be a genuine tour of hipster culture?
I'd like to offer a counter tour of Dolores Park. A tour of the real Dolores Park. Below, a sample itinerary of your three hours in the park:
2:00pm - Tour/hangout begins.
2:25pm - I show up 25 minutes late looking haggard, listless, and easily confused. I'll blame my alarm, which “didn't go off again, I totally swear.”
2:26pm - I take a seat on the grass, noting that “I don't think I want to start drinking yet” and “I've been trying to take it easy lately.” Everyone nods in agreement.
2:29pm - Cold Beer, Cold Water walks by, serenading us with his siren song one for three, two for five.
2:30pm - Five dollars poorer and two PBRs richer.
2:42pm - Speculate that none of our friends are in the park yet because “it's too fucking early” and express surprise that we're even up ourselves.
2:48pm - Everyone collectively glares in the general direction of a growing drum circle.
3:00pm - iPhones begin to buzz with requests for “brunch?”
3:01pm - “naw 2 pbrs deep in dolo. bring tecate?”
3:02pm- *Error: Message Send Failure*
3:17pm - Huddle together and devise a plan to hide from the girl you fucked last week that's walking towards our group.
3:19pm - Talk to her anyway.
3:21pm - Report the conversation was “no big deal.”
3:31pm - Complain that “the weed truffle dude” hasn't been in the park allllll day.
3:32pm - Friends begin to trickle into the park. They brought beer and it's Modelo Especial. Assholes.
3:34pm - Reprimand a neighboring park-goer for listening to Cut Copy over iPhone speakers. I mean, really?
3:42pm - Trade a dude in a Ninja Turtles t-shirt a $6.70 BART card for a jumbo weed cookie.
3:49pm - Attempt to hit on cute girl in a tattered Black Sabbath t-shirt by remarking how much better English rock was in the 1970s. After being completely ignored, walk away hoping no one sees you.
3:58pm - Grumble about all the “shitty dubstep” being played in the park. Be corrected by your smart-ass friend, noting that “it's more witchhaus than dubstep.”
4:03pm - Survey the thousands of fellow cool kids in the park, observing that “nothing is really going on today” and recollect “how much more action” was in the park last week.
4:09pm - Pose for photos with a guy masturbating under a blank as a backdrop.
4:21pm - Call Rhea's and order a vegan sando from a recovering heroin addict.
4:32pm - Your friend Tim turns up, seeing you checked in Foursquare. He's standing 10 feet away from you and trying to call you. You reach for your phone, unsuccessfully, and grunt “I guess I'll hang out with him later.”
4:58pm - TCB Courier delivers your sando, because there was “no fucking way” you were walking two blocks “in this fucking heat.”
5:00pm - My iPhone alarm starts ringing. The tour is over. I stand up, throw two dollars in change in your face and wish you a “horrible Muni ride home.”
5:43pm - You're still standing at the corner of 16th and Guerrero, wondering if the 22 will ever show up. I'm hunkered over the Pop's bar, squandering my hard-earned tour guide money on bloody mary's and bitching about all the drunk Marina types ruining the park.
That'll be 25 dollars please.