San Diego Council Meeting.

San Diego's City Hall is only about four blocks from me. . I had hoped to speak about my upcoming book, and make the 21st of May 'Amby Schindler Day'. But again, it was a closed meeting--and you know what that means.
  I had already gone through the check point and an officer told me to "go to the second floor to find out when the next open meeting would be scheduled." I took the elevator to the second floor and a nice gentleman tried to show me how the meeting was open or shut. Yet he did provide me with a phone number since the Council's web site was confusing.
  Another officer told me to go to the tenth floor and speak with an assistant to Gloria's office. I wished to find out why we had been given a 60 day termination letter at the old Y.M.C.A. and a week later an apology by the new  Egyptian owners. " Here is the phone number to find out the next council meeting." It was (619) 533-4000. I had been told that Gloria okayed the deal that brought the desert to the beach. (Cairo to San Diego.)
  In that period, many had suffered. One gal just sat next to the second floor window.  I thought she might wish to jump. Others seemed quite out of their minds. And the notice came just as we were to suffer the worst wave of hot air in a century.
   On the tenth floor an assistant to Gloria's office came and sat down. I told her my story about endless sleepless nights, and why we were not afforded an air conditioner or voucher to another building. She took notes and when I mentioned that Gloria had signed the paper giving the new owners the permission to buy the old hotel, her eyes lit up, the same way a mother does when her new born baby pops out.  
  The previous day, I had sent a registered letter to the new landlords about my need for an A/C. I knew they would not allow it, but I also knew I could try to close this hotel for cruelty to animals. Would you believe that the wooden vent above the doors were closed.
   I  thought it was the 21st today. I had scheduled a red-eyed flight to Portland, Oregon at seven o'clock. I would get a boarding pass but not fly. The money budgeted for the flight went to keep my cool during a Black Death Week  in San Diego. I had bought the 40 dollar ticket a week earlier. 
 I bought a four dollar salad carton and chips at the Seven Eleven and waited for the 922 airport bus to the airport. One whiskered man sat in the front drooling over the gal to his left. He wore multicolored socks. Like many, he rode the buses and trains all day to pass time. I got off at Terminal Two. I passed out my card to a few people in Terminal Two. One spoke to me. "Well I don't live there, but my sister does. I will hand her your card. She has a travel agency business."