“Hey Chowhounds, it’s your guy, Andre,” the black man with an enormous bundle of dreadlocks tied up over his head. He waves at the camera before it swings right to a woman with close-cropped blue hair and a lip ring.

“…And your girl, Sadie,” she announces in a Cockney British accent. “FoodFinders is back to figure out where your Grubhub meal is coming from. Tonight we’re ordering from… Andre? Where are we ordering from?

The camera switches to a computer screen logged in to GrubHub. “We’re thinking of Thai food,”
 Andre voices over. The cursor hovers over the first entry, “Jitlada Thai Cuisine, they’re over on Buchanan,” to the next entry, “iThai Bangkok is on Post.”

The cursor moves to the next entry and Sadie’s voice cuts in, “This one, though – ‘All Thai’d Up’ – doesn’t have a brick and mortar address.”

“And you know what that means?” Andre asks.

“It’s a ghost kitchen,” Sadie responds. The camera switches to Sadie in a puffy jacked walking down Market Street. “In case you’re new to FoodFinders, we like to chase down the latest food trend of ghost kitchens. These are places you’ve probably ordered from on GrubHub or FoodJets, or Uber Eats, or what have you that doesn’t exactly exist…”

The camera moves to Andre next to her, “Well, they exist, but they’re not a restaurant you could go and sit down for a meal. They’re only there to make food for these services. We think you should know where you’re food is coming from, so stick with us and let’s chase this down!”

Quick cut to Andre and Sadie sitting on couches next to each other eating noodles out of Styrofoam containers. “We ordered from All Thai’d Up to see whether they’re worth chasing down. Gotta say,” she takes a forkful of saffron-tinted noodles and jerks to catch the noodles as they fall off her fork. She chews and swallows while smiling and her cheeks redden, “Heh, they’re really good.”

Camera moves to Andre who just finished a bite from his container. “Agreed,” he said. “You know the drill: we bribed our driver to figure out where picked up our order.”

“Let’s go!” Sadie says enthusiastically, setting her container down on the couch next to her like she’s really going to get up and go right then.

Camera cuts to the inside of a car at night. Andre and Sadie are sitting side by side in the back of the car. “One lovely Lyft ride and we’re coming up on our destination,” Sadie says as Andre points out the window. “We’re in the Dogpatch, 20^th Street and…”

“Here?” a voice off camera – presumably, the Lyft driver.

“Yeah, man, right here is fine,” Andre tells him.

The picture gets shaky as the person working the camera clambers out of the car before resolving on Andre and Sadie walking under orange-tinted sodium streetlights across a parking lot towards a large white trailer taking up four parking spaces. On one end a big sign over a closed window reads “FOOD PICK UP HERE” in block letters. Left of the window a number of name placards are taped to the trailer: “Big Joe’s BBQ”; “Spoon & Spatula”; “Just Wing It”; and finally, “All Thai’d Up”.

Sadie marches up to the window and knocks loudly, “Excuse me! Excuse me!”

The window opens and a man asks “Who are you picking up for?”

“We’re vloggers,” Sadie says as if that explains everything. The man gives her an utterly confused look.

“Dawg,” Andre moves up next to her, “Can we talk to the chef?”

Confusion turns to befuddlement. The man starts speaking Spanish to someone inside as he closes the window. Through the closed window, the camera looks over Sadie and Andre’s shoulder at the animated conversation the man is having.

Sadie turns back to the camera, “Let’s see if they want to talk!”

The camera cuts to the door opening and a Hispanic man with wire rimmed glasses and red cheeks over a lightly-stained white apron stepped out wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “Hi?”

“Hi, sir, I’m Andre,” Andre hits him with a broad smile and thrusts out his hand before remembering plague etiquette and offers him his elbow to bump.

The chef hesitantly bumps elbows.

“We’re run a YouTube channel called FoodFinders,” Sadie explains offering her elbow to bump. “We want to talk to the people behind the food that doesn’t have a storefront! What’s your name?”

“Antonio?” the chef says nervously.

“Antonio…?” Andre prompts.

“Antonio Moreno.”

“Where did you work before you started here?” Andre asks.

“I was sous at Martin’s Tavern on Montgomery for six years. Laid off in March, during lockdown.”

“That’s terrible!” Sadie exclaims.

“How long have you been chef here?” Andre asks.

“Uh…,” he thinks a second, “May?”

“We had the pad Thai from All Thai’d Up tonight,” Sadie says.

“It was the bomb,” Andre nods.

The chef smiles, “Thank you.”

And Andre and Sadie quiz the chef for another five minutes about cooking in San Francisco, how he likes this gig, etc, etc. Eventually Antonio explains he has to go back inside. The door closes, and Sadie and Andre step away from the trailer. The camera frames their faces with the trailer in the background.

“That’s it for this edition of FoodFinders!” Sadie says.

“We hope you enjoyed us dispelling a little mystery about one of the latest ghost kitchens!”

“Don’t forget to ‘Like,’ ‘Subscribe,’ and comment,” Sadie says.

“And hit the bell to be notified of new videos!”

“Until next time…” Sadie starts and then in practiced, cheesy irony they both say “Bon Appetit!”

***

“Hey Chowhounds, Andre here.”

The camera switches, “I’m Sadie and FoodFinders is back to figure out where your UberEats meal is coming from. What are you feeling like tonight, Andre?”

The camera switches to a computer screen logged in to UberEats. “How about tacos…,” Andre voices over, The cursor hovers over the first entry, “Tacos San Buena?”

“On Pacific,” Sadie’s voice answers.

“Judie’s Tacos Locos?”

“Mission Street over on Rincon Hill.”

“Okay, how about… Gravedigger Tacos?”

Sadie and Andre walk down a dark section of Broadway at night. As the headlights of cars stream by occasionally, Sadie says to the camera, “That was delish! We slipped a twenty to our lovely UberEats lady who passed us the address she picked up our amazing tacos…”

A white Nissan Altima with a bright Lyft sign pulls up to the curb. Andre confirms with the driver through the passenger window, then opens the door for Sadie, “Let’s see what we find!”

The camera catches Sadie mid-question, “…Laurel Heights?”

“No, this is weird.”

“The address is right, though, yeah?” The camera man’s voice is heard for the first time.

“Yeah, yeah, California and Spruce… There, across the street,” he leans towards the driver out of frame, “Here’s fine.”

“This can’t be right…” Sadie says quizzically.

The camera abruptly cuts to Andre and Sadie crossing California Street walking towards an unlit vacant lot. A trailer sits in the middle of the poorly lit lot. “FOOD PICK UP HERE” in block letters over a window in the trailer. A dark window.

“What the hell?” Andre says as they step into the lot.

“Do you think she’s having a go with us?” Sadie asks.

“I don’t know…”

The camera follows them up to the side of the dark trailer where a list of name placards are taped to the trailer: “In The Groundz Roasters”; “Burnt Ends BBQ”; “Gravedigger Tacos”; “Wok’d Off A Cliff Stir fry”; “I Scream Ice Creamery”.

“…The hell?”

“You keep saying that,” Sadie says. She reaches up past him and knocks on the dark window. “Hello? Hello?” Unsurprisingly, no response from the dark window.

“Let’s order something from another restaurant and see if they really pick up here,” Andre suggests as he takes out his phone.

Sadie follows suit with her phone and starts searching, “If we can find them…”

Quick cut as time passes. Andre says “Okay, okay, FoodJets has Wok’d Off A Cliff. I’m gonna order… chicken and,” he pokes at the screen, “snow peas.” A moment passes. “Alright, that’s done. He smiles into the camera, “Now we wait.” Clearly thinking the cut is over, he drops the smile and addresses the man holding the camera, “Miles, while we’re waiting see what you can find about this place…”

“Like… this lot?” Miles replies from off camera.

“Yeah, yeah…” The shot ends.

The camera is pointing at the ground and then swings around dizzily as Sadie can be heard saying, “Here they come!” The picture resolves on a white Honda Fit pulling into the lot. It circles tightly around the trailer dodging potholes in the dirt. A skinny Indian man in his early twenties steps out and eyes Andre, Sadie, and the camera suspiciously. “Hi Sir,” Sadie says, “Are you picking up Wok’d Off A Cliff?”

The man nods, “Yes.”

“Have you picked up from here before?” Andre asks.

“Yes. This morning. Coffee order from Groundz.”

“Was it dark like this?”

“In the morning?” The man asks confused.

“No,” Andre corrects himself, “Not like dark-dark… it doesn’t look like anyone’s in the trailer. Was it like that this morning?”

“Yes,” he says, then walks by them towards the window.

As the camera looks over the driver’s shoulder, the dark window slowly opens. From the darkness a brown grocery bag with folded top and an order form stapled to it moves out of the darkness slowly a few inches clearing the window which shuts slowly by itself again. The camera, with a clear view of the entire window shows no movement or light from inside – just the window opening, the bag, then the window closing.

“What the hell?” Andre says.

“Oh my God,” Sadie gapes.

The driver, completely unphased, walks to the counter, takes the bag and starts back to his car.

Andre snaps out of his amazement first and intercepts the driver, “Actually, that’s for us.” When the driver looks confused, Andre says, “Andre Tower? 781 Broadway, 202?” The driver looks at the tag nods to himself, then shrugs and hands Andre the bag. Andre hands him a five dollar bill as the camera moves to close in on Sadie who is still staring at the closed, dark window.

“Did you get that?” she asks the camera.

“Yeah,” Miles says from behind the camera. “And I found out something about this lot…”

“What?” Sadie turns to the camera.

“Uh… this block, this whole area… this used to be a cemetery.”

“You’re shitting me,” Andre’s voice comes in from off screen.

“No, Laurel Hill Cemetery. Biggest in San Francisco before they moved everything to Colma back in the thirties.”

“No,” Sadie says exhasperated. “No!” she repeats into the camera then turns and walks deliberately towards the trailer.

“Sadie, where are you going?” Andre asks as the camera shakily follows her.

Sadie walks past the dark window, puts her hand on the knob of the door next to the window and rattles it experimentally. She looks back at the camera over her shoulder, “It’s unlocked.”

“Sadie, wait…” Andre’s voice tries to stop her.

Sadie opens the door and steps inside in one movement.

Silence as she stands inside the darkened doorway staring inside.

“It’s…” she starts. “There’s…”

“What?” Andre’s voice comes in.

“Oh my God!” she yells as the video cuts off in static.

The screen goes black.

This isn’t the story I started tonight. That one got away from me and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to finish it tonight. Rather than split it up, I decided to shelve it in favor of a short. Traditionally I save shorts for Saturdays which are generally my bartending days. Given that the venue I was supposed to work tomorrow was consumed by the Glass fire I have some time to work on the story initially planned for today. In its place, I give you a short one tonight.

I reached for my phone and that dread that comes with not finding it where it’s supposed to be sent a chill down my spine.

Don’t panic, I thought. Retrace your steps… My buddy Danny and I were having dinner in the pandemic seating of a restaurant in North Beach. I checked under my seat – maybe it fell out? Nothing.

“What’s up?” Danny asked.

“My phone… I don’t have it.”

“When was the last time you used it?”

“If I knew that…”

“Yeah, yeah…” he said dismissively. “Did you leave it in the Lyft?”

“Possibly… Can I borrow your phone? I’m going to call it.” He handed me his phone and I dialed my number. It picked up almost immediately and I first thought my phone must be dead and have gone straight to voicemail. But no, there was no message… just silence. Dead air. “Hello? Who’s this?” I asked. No response. “Hello? You have my phone,” I said. Silence. Then quietly, a low giggle. It got progressively louder and carried a note of malice. The giggle started to rise to an insane cackle when the line went dead. I stared at Danny’s phone, checking to make sure I got the number right. I did.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Someone must have my phone and be messing with me.” I shook my head, defeated, “Guess I’ll have to look into getting a new one tomorrow.”

I managed to forget about my lost phone for the rest of the night and didn’t get home until well after midnight. I turned the light on in my room and there on my nightstand was my phone.

I like to start each year of 31 Ghosts with a true story. In 2017 I kicked off the first round of stories writing about when my dad’s spirit visited my sister and I shortly after his death (on October 1, 1991). The next year I began retelling my very first paranormal encounters when my sister and I listened to invisible footsteps up the stairway of the creaky old house we lived in at the time. Last year I wrote about the circumstances of my mom’s death for the first time. Specifically, the visitations I felt sitting bedside through one of the long last nights of her life.

In the run up to October 1 this year I ran through my life for paranormal encounters to mine for this year’s kickoff. Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of anything I hadn’t already written about. In addition to the aforementioned incidents, there were the couple of incidents in Sunnyvale I wrote about, and I even wrote about the ghosts at a winery I’ve bartended numerous weddings at.

While initially I worried I wouldn’t be able to fill this first, non-fiction spot with ghosts from my life upon reflection I realized that more than ever my life is filled with ghosts.

We all know what kind of a dumpster fire 2020 has been. So much so that just calling 2020 a dumpster fire feels like a cliché. But taken as a whole, so much about what we considered “normal” has been utterly uprooted that I don’t know anyone who claims to stand on solid metaphorical footing these days. Even if you haven’t been personally touched by the pandemic – and if you haven’t, count your blessings, keep wearing your mask, and diligently wash your hands – you might have lost a long-time job or struggled with sharing your home life with a work-from-home regiment. Maybe you’ve had to adapt to kids remotely “learning” and shoe-horning their requirements into yours on a daily basis. Or that wanderlust you’ve been able to indulge as often as you could suddenly withered on the vine as mandatory lockdowns forced you to vacation in the far off locale of the south corner of your living room. God bless you if you’re one of the legion of overworked, under-appreciated first line workers.

In short, we’re all a little crazy these days.

I feel very lucky I haven’t lost anyone in my immediate circle of family and friends – fortunately, those close to me who have had Covid have recovered without apparent long term effects. But we all know of those who weren’t so lucky. As I write this, the US has lost more than two hundred thousand lives. Regardless of your politics, when Joe Biden said something to the effect of that’s a lot of open seats around dinner tables… that has stuck with me.

I was recently introduced to the Swahili concepts of Sasha and Zamani. Sasha refers to things in recent memory – time and events you, I, or folks around us can call to memory; living memory. Zamani is when the last living person who has first-hand knowledge of those times and events passes and they pass into, well, history. I was reading Colin Dickey’s Ghostland: An American History In Haunted Places when he cited another author’s text using the terms. Dickey applies the terms to the supposed ghost of a woman who haunts Cathedral Park in Portland, Oregon. Thelma Taylor was murdered in 1949 after being abducted from under the St. John’s bridge where the park is now. Dickey discusses the strange juxtaposition of ghostly legends of those who are still Sasha – Thelma Taylor’s little sister is still alive, after all. Paulette Jarrett was just three when her sister was killed, and she remembers just a couple memories. She finishes telling them by saying, “I just wish I’d known her a little better.”

I feel I’m at an age where I’m balanced between two states. Both of my parents are gone, but I still have family and friends to share memories of them with. Yet, I feel the pull of Zamani, stronger with the death of people I share their memory with. My dad’s closest sister, Nancy, died a few years ago. Before she passed, I had the luxury of talking to her about growing up with my dad – a side of him I never would have heard. Her husband, Chuck, just joined Nancy on that side of the veil about a year ago and his stories and perspectives have now gone quiet. A little less Sasha, by degrees…

They say the seraphim that separates the world of the living and those gone grows thinner through this month as the days get shorter and the nights get longer and gradually colder. I catch little signs that could be interpreted as winks from those we love and have lost, like cresting an exhausting bluff on a recent hike, out of breath, but proud of myself for the exertion and feeling like the four pelicans flying by at eye level in formation are my dad’s way of saying he’s still proud of me. Or a hummingbird flitting into view and hovering directly in front of me before zipping out of sight the other week when the depression of events threatened to overwhelm me. That was mom saying she’s still here. As I write this, I’m shuffling through a 500-song playlist on Spotify. Louis Armstrong’s “What A Wonderful Life” – one of my dad’s absolute favorite songs – just started playing. Okay, dad, thanks for reading over my shoulder.

I haven’t even touched on the now-annual terror of fire season. The Walbridge fire forced me out of my house for a week and a half and stopped just a couple of miles up the road in Armstrong Woods. When you’re tasked with grabbing whatever you can of your life you’ve accumulated that can fit in a car-sized space and leaving the rest to what may come, you really start to realize what’s important. Pets, obviously – Kiki, the Last Pet Standing, doesn’t travel well, but she was first in the car, of course. Just about everyone I know follows the living things with pictures – loose, in albums, scrapbooks, even that portable hard drive you diligently scanned umpteen hundred sepia-toned pictures of Zamani. What other ghosts do you put in your car? I brought just two of my guitars – both of which I have more stories of than recorded music. I talked to my dad about getting my Telecaster when he was in the hospital for one of his cancer surgeries. He didn’t know a Telecaster from a Takamine, but teenage Jordy grasped for something… “Remember, dad, when we watched the Kentucky Headhunters perform on TV the other night? That was the guitar the lead guitarist played…” I remember seeing a spark of recognition in his eyes. I remember…

Thankfully, I can say so far nothing has threatened my home more than the Walbridge fire, but recent fires throughout the area have caused almost constant flurries of dirty snowy ash. In the days after the winds whipped the 2017 Tubbs fire west out of Napa and flames went roaring through unsuspecting Santa Rosa neighborhoods, I remember the then-fresh fear of a perceived “normal” having been burnt down literally overnight. As the fire retreated to the hills for the rest of the month, we got our first ash flurries. I remember more than one person pointing out the ash falling may have come from someone’s home, or the sheets on the bed they fled as the orange furious flames bore down on them. The gray, white, and black ash that swirls and flutters from our smokey skies during this fire season are little ghosts converted in an angry flash.

Yet, even when the pictures turn to ash, or, more hopefully, fade beyond recognition by time, we will still tell our stories. I love getting together with my family – these days we gather every other Sunday on Zoom, naturally – because we talk about our memories, about houses we lived in, about crazy experiences we shared. We’ve always done this – a Jensky gathering is loud, often raucous, and utterly joyful. Even on sad occasions we manage to laugh and laugh heartily. “If we couldn’t laugh, we’d all go insane,” sang Jimmy Buffet (who might just be my family’s patron saint).  

Thank you, the living, for joining me today, this first day of October for this first entry into the 2020 season of 31 Ghosts. Tomorrow I plan on summoning my legion of Sasha around me – mom, dad, Aunt Nancy, Uncle Chuck, Uncle Mike, Nana, and so many more – to stand behind me as I put together fictional tales of spirits up to no good, the living up to worse, and a whole lot of unexplained encounters. Part of the sport of this month for me is I have no idea what is coming. That in itself is terrifying and exhilarating. I earnestly hope you find a little bit of scary, a little bit of funny, and a lot of joy from the next 30 ghosts coming. I know I will!