The Epicenter of Crime
September 13, 2013 2:16 PM Subscribe
The Hunt's Donuts Story Hunt’s Donuts was a thorn in the side of the police at the heart of a neighborhood that has always been a thorn in the side of the police. .
Hunt’s stories are common to the Mission. They relate a history of Mission criminal ingenuity and straight-up ghetto know-how.
How you felt about Hunt’s Donuts might reveal your position on the changing Mission District.
“Hunt’s was a celebration of all that was undomesticated in the Mission,” says novelist Peter Plate, who set much of his 2001 novel Angels of Catastrophe at Hunt’s Donuts’ scratched Formica tables, and has written 3 other novels set in the neighborhood. “It was lawless and you liked it that way.”
At one point, A cop came in and ordered a coffee. The counter guy took advantage of this moment As the cop took his first sip, the counter guy declared “I’m going to the bathroom. You watch the place for a minute!” and quickly bounded out the door. The cops eyes bulged wide and he almost spit out his coffee, but it was too late. He was stuck. He looked warily around him at the huge crowd of wasted men that was already slowly advancing towards the refill pot. One after another, the men refilled their Styrofoam cups without paying, silently, while the cop surveyed the scene like he was watching a horror movie, maybe “Dawn of the Dead.”
Hunt’s stories are common to the Mission. They relate a history of Mission criminal ingenuity and straight-up ghetto know-how.
How you felt about Hunt’s Donuts might reveal your position on the changing Mission District.
“Hunt’s was a celebration of all that was undomesticated in the Mission,” says novelist Peter Plate, who set much of his 2001 novel Angels of Catastrophe at Hunt’s Donuts’ scratched Formica tables, and has written 3 other novels set in the neighborhood. “It was lawless and you liked it that way.”
At one point, A cop came in and ordered a coffee. The counter guy took advantage of this moment As the cop took his first sip, the counter guy declared “I’m going to the bathroom. You watch the place for a minute!” and quickly bounded out the door. The cops eyes bulged wide and he almost spit out his coffee, but it was too late. He was stuck. He looked warily around him at the huge crowd of wasted men that was already slowly advancing towards the refill pot. One after another, the men refilled their Styrofoam cups without paying, silently, while the cop surveyed the scene like he was watching a horror movie, maybe “Dawn of the Dead.”
Sounds like a more impressive version of Seattle's late, ambiguously-lamented Turf. It is the only place in the world where I have seen tables strewn with actual racing forms, a la Raymond Chandler's L.A. Come to think of it, it did have a sort of film-noir-by-way-of-Harmony-Korine vibe.
posted by palmcorder_yajna at 5:20 PM on September 13, 2013
posted by palmcorder_yajna at 5:20 PM on September 13, 2013
Interesting story!
posted by Sticherbeast at 5:21 PM on September 13, 2013 [1 favorite]
posted by Sticherbeast at 5:21 PM on September 13, 2013 [1 favorite]
The Mission District was where my family lived for a bit when I was little. Still have the accent. Few left who do, since it's not the same ethnic composition anymore.
I never hung out at this donut shop.
I hung out elsewhere.
posted by Katjusa Roquette at 8:50 PM on September 13, 2013
I never hung out at this donut shop.
I hung out elsewhere.
posted by Katjusa Roquette at 8:50 PM on September 13, 2013
What, are you paid by the word or something? Please: get a pair of scissors and edit, edit, edit!!!!
posted by seamallowance at 7:01 AM on September 15, 2013
posted by seamallowance at 7:01 AM on September 15, 2013
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posted by mosk at 3:21 PM on September 13, 2013 [4 favorites]