Bus Report #87

Between a drunk and a 12 year old.

I was on a crowded 38 Geary on Saturday, completely boxed in by men.
There was a quiet drunk sitting beside me.
In front of me, a burly bald man who had his arm around a stocky man with thick, black curly hair.
In back of me, a father and son who were lost on the bus.
Standing near them was another man, who helpfully explained how the father and son could get to Chinatown.
Across the way, a black-clad guy in white socks and sandals with stringy, greasy long hair was listening to his walkman at full blast. I caught a glimpse of the CD he was listening to: The Angry Amputees. I think they are local.


Good Luck.

This morning I was running late (Sandwich preparation, bills paying, music choosing) so I got to the corner just as the 38 was pulling into the stop. I ran across the street to the center island, where I was stuck until the lights changed. The driver looked at me and pointed to the bus, and I nodded, so he pulled over. The light changed and I dashed across the street. He let me on the bus. I thanked him profusely and sat down.
At Fillmore, I saw the 22 idling at the stop. I flew off the 38 and ran at full speed to catch it.
The driver was the shaved-head-clark-kent-glasses driver, so naturally he waited for me. I smiled and asked him how he was while I fumbled for my bus pass.
"It's okay," he said. "I know you."

Everyone knows him, too, I thought. Especially since as we drove down Fillmore several people waved at him and called out 'good morning' to him.
One very dapper elderly gentleman (full suit with vest, shined shoes, cane) blew him a kiss, then laughed.