Bus Report #885
Last night I dawdled at work a little longer than usual and then walked out to catch the 22 Fillmore.
The bus was crowded when it arrived. I sat in a rear-facing seat at the back of the bus - something I don't mind but that is often a bit disorienting to me.
Sitting across from me was a person in black overalls, black boots and a black denim jacket. Gender not obvious to me. They had tattoos on their hand - one in cursive that read: Auntie, and another that was the outline of a tooth. They spent the bulk of the ride on the phone, laughing, eyes wide and bright.
The bus filled up. At Bryant we idled for over five minutes but I wasn't sure why.
One man who had been sitting in the back row of seats sighed loudly and then bolted to his feet.
"Let me out," he growled, pushing his way through the other passengers to the door.
We rolled, slowly, down 16th and then up Church to Fillmore.
The man who always yells at buses on the corner of Church and Duboce was not there to yell at us, maybe he needed a day off.
A couple of guys got on at Turk and flopped in to the seats across from me. One of them looked so much like someone I used to know, he could have been his slightly beefier twin. The twin had a freshly trimmed beard and a baseball cap. His friend had a mop of curly hair (an expression I never use but which is perfect to describe this guy) and looked like an old friend from college. They kidded around with each other and chatted, gazed out the windows to get their bearings.
At Fillmore and Geary I ran for the 38 - there were two regulars and a limited - oops, I mean a 'rapid' - but just as I got to the stop the buses all pulled away.
The two guys who had been sitting across from me ran over, too, and started yelling at the drivers and thumping the sides of the leaving buses. They shook their heads in disbelief.
The three of us caught our breaths. "There's another couple buses coming," I said, pointing down Geary.
"Good," said the man with the curly hair. "That was just wrong."
"Happens all the time," said the twin.
"It's been a crazy week on Muni," I said.
A 38R pulled up and then a regular 38 pulled up in front of it.
They got on the 38R and I got on the regular.
It was a quiet and fast ride the rest of the way home.
Back in my neighborhood I bought tomatoes at the produce market, as I do almost daily during tomato season. The proprietor, a petite older man with thick glasses, smiled at me and said, "I know you getting the tomatoes. You always getting them."
"It's true," I said, handing him my tomatoes to get weighed.
As I left the shop, he and his wife waved goodbye.