It's the law. At least it was until late last month when the Board of Supervisors voted to eliminate a section of the city code almost 20 years out of date.
How obsolete was it? Maggie Lynch, a spokeswoman for the MTA, gave some perspective: "We don't even issue peddler's permits anymore," she said. "That's handled completely differently now."
How did an archaic piece of law manage to linger on the books for so long? "Have you ever looked at the city code?" Lynch asked.
Good point.
"Police code, traffic code, health code ... ," she ticked off the list, "So many things get added to that that when things get obsolete, most agencies can't afford an employee to comb through it and find them."
An aide to a supervisor, who declined to go on the record, agreed, saying the city's code is "filled with this stuff." Like a polluted reservoir in a small town, or a New Jersey field, the city code is a bottomless mystery: Anything could be down there.
"Stuff comes up occasionally," the aide said. "We try to take it out when we see it."
This particular piece of unwanted history was noticed, according to Lynch, by an MTA employee who apparently makes it his hobby to dredge through the depths of San Francisco regulations and bring the not-so-fresh bits to the attention of his supervisors. This isn't the first time he's won the fight against code pollution.
Lynch, however, wouldn't name the employee, or grant an interview — he doesn't get paid for this stuff, and it's not officially in his job description, so this unknown decoder's activities are kept under the radar.
That's too bad: Making the law make more sense is not for the faint of heart. He sounds like a hero in a long anonymous chain stretching back to Hammurabi's proofreader. It's good to know somebody is quietly on the case.
