Bus Report #111
The bus has been pretty tame lately, and I have been in an easy mood, which is why there hasn't been a bus report in a while.
Today on the 38 I sat next to the teenage boy who fancies himself a little punk. He usually wears black clothes or camo, and has a torn up vest with the inevitable band patches safety-pinned to it.
Too bad he goes to private Catholic school and has to at least partially comply with the uniform. Poor kid. He was reading a book but I couldn't tell what it was. It was old, though, probably older than him: the pages were yellow and it was pocket-size, like my ancient copy of To Kill A Mockingbird.
The 22 was full but I managed to get a seat. I sat next to one of the teenage girls and across from Carmen. We were able to chat for a couple of minutes until it was so packed I had a little boy's belly against my shoulder and someone's backpack kept hitting me in the head.
At Mission, the crowd eased a little, then the driver let people get on through the back doors and it was crazy again.
A tiny, drunk, crazy and probably homeless woman skateboarder stood next to me, ranting that people shouldn't touch her. Well, I am sure no one would have if we had had a choice!
She was getting off at Bryant, too, but did not know how the doors worked. A woman in an aquamarine coat had to show her. I jumped down the stairs (there were people blocking the stepwell) and quickly crossed the street and went to the Potrero Center for my copy of The-World's-Worst-Daily-Newspaper and a coffee.
I had started walking towards Potrero when I heard someone calling my name.
I turned around and saw Ebony, one of my oldest bus friends (duration not age!)walking towards me.
We greeted each other and companionably walked together down to work.
Today on the 38 I sat next to the teenage boy who fancies himself a little punk. He usually wears black clothes or camo, and has a torn up vest with the inevitable band patches safety-pinned to it.
Too bad he goes to private Catholic school and has to at least partially comply with the uniform. Poor kid. He was reading a book but I couldn't tell what it was. It was old, though, probably older than him: the pages were yellow and it was pocket-size, like my ancient copy of To Kill A Mockingbird.
The 22 was full but I managed to get a seat. I sat next to one of the teenage girls and across from Carmen. We were able to chat for a couple of minutes until it was so packed I had a little boy's belly against my shoulder and someone's backpack kept hitting me in the head.
At Mission, the crowd eased a little, then the driver let people get on through the back doors and it was crazy again.
A tiny, drunk, crazy and probably homeless woman skateboarder stood next to me, ranting that people shouldn't touch her. Well, I am sure no one would have if we had had a choice!
She was getting off at Bryant, too, but did not know how the doors worked. A woman in an aquamarine coat had to show her. I jumped down the stairs (there were people blocking the stepwell) and quickly crossed the street and went to the Potrero Center for my copy of The-World's-Worst-Daily-Newspaper and a coffee.
I had started walking towards Potrero when I heard someone calling my name.
I turned around and saw Ebony, one of my oldest bus friends (duration not age!)walking towards me.
We greeted each other and companionably walked together down to work.
posted by Rachel at 9:45 AM
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