Bus Report #672

This morning when I got on the bus, my favorite driver smiled and said, "Good morning, dear," and then before I could go find a seat he held up a piece of paper and said, "Look at this. See, this is when I'm supposed to get to this stop."
The paper was his schedule, I realized, with major stops underlined twice in green pen. He pointed to one line which read 6:47. "See?" he said.
"So you're a little early?" I guessed, unsure what time it was.
He smiled again and shook his head. "Nope, I'm right on time!"
"That's great," I said. I patted him on the shoulder and went to sit down.

Bus Report #671

Three for a Thursday.

Approaching the bus stop I see the three ladies that often wait with me.
One has a new perm, one wears a hat with a houndstooth print, and one wears gaudy gold jewelry. These ladies are all friendly and chatty and while I don't know their names and they don't know mine, we are friends for a few minutes a day as we wait for the 22.
"Afternoon, ladies," I call, and they wave and say 'hi' back.

On the sidewalk by the church, the concrete lettering says MARIROSA instead of MARIPOSA.

For the first time in months I see Ramon waiting for the bus - the 19 instead of the 22. He has a new haircut.

Bus Report #670

Last Wednesday, 6:45 am, the 22 Fillmore headed toward Potrero Hill.
Mr. Fantastic got on at Hayes. He is a young guy, probably in his late twenties to mid-thirties, average height/weight, thick black glasses and close cropped curly black hair. Put him in a puffy jacket and pair of Nikes and he'd be unmemorable - but this is not his style.

On Wednesday he got on the bus and took his Clipper card out of his neon yellow wristlet, and tapped it against the Clipper reader.
He sat down across from where I sat next to Coffee Cup girl.
Mr. Fantastic looked amazing: he wore a light pink button down shirt, a beige bow tie, dark-wash Levi's rolled just so above his argyle socks and his freshly polished black shoes.
He completed the outfit by wearing thin pleather suspenders, the kind old bankers or card dealers wear - the ones that go around the back. Only these suspenders were neon yellow, to match his wristlet.
Wow.
Coffee cup girl and I exchanged a look that said, this dude looks sharp, neither of us saying a word.
He got out at Church Street, and we watched him walk down to the Muni Metro station.

Bus Report #669

Tonight my 22 Fillmore driver handed a lollipop to every little kid who got on the bus.
It was cute - a little boy in a school uniform sat across from me with his mom, quietly sucking on his candy.
Smart driver.

Bus Report #668

It was spectacularly foggy this morning - grey and thick, the kind of fog that feels like a blanket set down over the city.

I waited by myself down on Fillmore and Geary and watched the sky turn from grey to moss green.
Right on schedule, my favorite driver, dark glasses and white teeth and sharp cap, drove up and stopped right in front of me. I climbed on board.
"Morning," I said, and started walking toward the back of the bus.
"Dear," said the driver, "would you mind getting me a coffee when we get to Starbucks?"
He smiled and pressed $20 into my hand.
"Of course," I said. "How do you take it?"

He stopped the bus in front of Starbucks and I hopped down.
"I'll wait for you across the street," he said, and pointed to the bus stop up ahead.
I bought him his coffee - black with two sugars - pocketed his change and walked back out into the fog to meet the bus.
"Here you go, sir," I said, handing him his coffee, change, and napkins.
"Thanks, my dear," he said.
"You're welcome," I told him.

It felt strange and routine at the same time, an errand for a friend who's name I don't know. A $20 test of trust.
I hope the coffee kept him warm and focused on this damp, foggy morning.

Bus Report #667

This morning I waited for the 22 down on Fillmore, in the dark and in the rain, alone.
I stood all the way back between the benches - mostly so I'd stay dry and also because I've noticed if I stand under the overhang but don't back up, people walk by and pretend not to see me there, and they either walk right in to me, or they give me dirty looks and try to get me to move out of the way. Strange, but it happens all the time so I guess it's the thing to do.

Several people walked by on their way to the 38.
Then the street was quiet again, no cars and no people. For a moment I wondered if it was Sunday and I'd gotten up early by accident.

A man approached from around the corner and walked straight towards me.
He wore cowboy boots, madras shorts, a leather jacket, NASA baseball cap and a red knit cap on top of it. His face was square and his eyes were narrowed into almost invisible slits. His mustache was thick and black and needed a trim. He clutched a crumpled lottery ticket in his hands and fidgeted with it, all the while staring at me and trying to catch my eye.

There was something about him that unnerved me. I hoped he'd keep walking.

The man stood right in front of me at the curb and at first, because it was still so dark out, I did not notice that he was still staring at me.
It was as though he was issuing a silent challenge for me to acknowledge him.
Honestly, if he hadn't seemed so creepy, I would have wished him a good morning, or something, but the way he stared, the way his face was set, I was actually frightened.

And I've waited in worse places at worst times, and never felt that way before.

The bus should have arrived already but it didn't. The man kept staring.

Finally, though I hated to give in, I moved over a few feet to the left.
The second I'd vacated my spot, he was there, tucked between the benches, playing with his lottery ticket.

The bus did arrive then, zooming right up in front of me, and it was my favorite morning driver, sunglasses and beret and white white teeth, good morning darling it's nice to see you, and we were off.

Bus Report #666

Last night's rain made the evening commute on the 22 a soggy, slow ride.

Has anyone else noticed that there are no bus shelters (inbound) from Connecticut and 17th all the way to Potrero and 16th?

I stood by the door of Thee Parkside and waited for the bus.
It pulled up just as the friendly woman was crossing the street, so I asked the driver to wait a moment for her to catch up.
I sat down beside a girl who looked like a young Janeane Garofalo.
She took in my wet coat, my wet bag, and shrunk away from me against the window.

I listened to a Planet Money podcast about lard... and felt a little sick.
At Geary I switched to the 38 - and found Carmen waiting on the curb for me.
"Hello!" she said. "Are you taking this bus?"
"Sure," I said.
We got on through the back of the bus and she pointed to an empty seat. "Do you want this?" she asked.
"You take it," I told her. "I've been sitting all day."
"Well, I was standing all day," she said. "So okay."
She sat and I stood next to her, and we chatted a bit. Her daughter is in Spain right now, so I dug my iPod out of my bag and pulled up the photos from my trip.
Carmen put on her glasses and flipped through the photos.
"It's so nice to see you having fun," she said.
I laughed, and thanked her.
I almost missed my bus stop, we were having such a nice visit with each other.
I squeezed her shoulder and shoved the iPod in my pocket, and took off, calling a "see you tomorrow!" back at her as I left.