And honestly? Their skepticism is earned.

San Francisco has a long, expensive history of launching ambitious social programs with vague mandates, ballooning budgets, and almost no measurable accountability. The city has poured billions into homelessness services over the past decade with results that range from underwhelming to invisible. So when the mayor rolls out another facility with a shiny name and promises of a new approach, residents are right to ask: what exactly is the plan, and who's keeping score?

The concept isn't inherently bad. Diverting people who don't belong in jail — someone having a mental health episode, for instance — into appropriate services can save taxpayer money and free up law enforcement to focus on actual crime. That's a fiscally sound argument. But the devil is always in the execution, and San Francisco's track record on execution is, to put it charitably, abysmal.

Critical questions remain unanswered. What happens when someone refuses services? What metrics will determine whether the center is working? Who provides oversight, and what's the contingency if it becomes just another revolving door that dumps people back onto the same streets?

As one SF resident put it bluntly, calling the Reset Center "a disaster waiting to happen." That's not just cynicism — it's pattern recognition.

Mayor Lurie deserves credit for trying to address the intersection of mental health, substance abuse, and public safety. But good intentions don't justify blank checks. If this center is going to work, it needs hard benchmarks, transparent budgeting, and real consequences for failure — not just another press conference and a hope that this time will be different.

San Franciscans are tired of paying premium prices for programs that deliver bargain-bin results. Prove us wrong, Mr. Mayor.