Bus Report #157
My commute this morning was of the frustrating-why-does-MUNI-suck-so-much variety.
I got on the 38 at my usual time (Russian businessman, check. Annoying backpack guy, check. Sweatshop ladies, check) and made it down to Fillmore 10 minutes later.
Things were looking good: the dreadlocked security guard was there and a couple of the day laborers, so I knew I hadn't missed my bus.
D. from my old office building was there, too. He was grooving to some music on his headphones until he saw me. We started to chat about vacations and work, and soon realized that it was 7:20 and our bus hadn't come yet.
We waited at the curb with the dreadlocked security guard for another 5 minutes.
A bus was coming. D. bet me a quarter it was a 22 Fillmore. I bet him the same that it was a 3 Jackson.
I won, but did not take his quarter.
A 22 Fillmore finally showed up. We did not recognize the driver.
The back door of the bus wouldn't close all the way, which was scary but at least it meant we got some fresh air.
The bus was fuller than usual. I ended up sitting next to the smelly man I always try to avoid.
At Valencia, the depressed CCA student got on. I noticed he has a snake tattoo on his forearm.
At Mission, people poured onto the bus before anyone could get off. A very large woman blocked the rear door and did not move for people to get by.
The driver skipped the next stop, and D. and I shared a smile. Earlier, he had been telling be a nightmare MUNI story while we waited. It was about a driver he sometimes had who skipped stops maliciously and (possibly) did some drug deals at Burger King.
We were just about at work, pulling into the Potrero Ave. stop, when the driver announced it was the last stop (even though the sign on the front said it was destined for 3rd and 20th).
Everyone got out. D. and I decided to walk the rest of the way.
Three 22 Fillmores passed us as we walked.
Damn it, MUNI.
I got on the 38 at my usual time (Russian businessman, check. Annoying backpack guy, check. Sweatshop ladies, check) and made it down to Fillmore 10 minutes later.
Things were looking good: the dreadlocked security guard was there and a couple of the day laborers, so I knew I hadn't missed my bus.
D. from my old office building was there, too. He was grooving to some music on his headphones until he saw me. We started to chat about vacations and work, and soon realized that it was 7:20 and our bus hadn't come yet.
We waited at the curb with the dreadlocked security guard for another 5 minutes.
A bus was coming. D. bet me a quarter it was a 22 Fillmore. I bet him the same that it was a 3 Jackson.
I won, but did not take his quarter.
A 22 Fillmore finally showed up. We did not recognize the driver.
The back door of the bus wouldn't close all the way, which was scary but at least it meant we got some fresh air.
The bus was fuller than usual. I ended up sitting next to the smelly man I always try to avoid.
At Valencia, the depressed CCA student got on. I noticed he has a snake tattoo on his forearm.
At Mission, people poured onto the bus before anyone could get off. A very large woman blocked the rear door and did not move for people to get by.
The driver skipped the next stop, and D. and I shared a smile. Earlier, he had been telling be a nightmare MUNI story while we waited. It was about a driver he sometimes had who skipped stops maliciously and (possibly) did some drug deals at Burger King.
We were just about at work, pulling into the Potrero Ave. stop, when the driver announced it was the last stop (even though the sign on the front said it was destined for 3rd and 20th).
Everyone got out. D. and I decided to walk the rest of the way.
Three 22 Fillmores passed us as we walked.
Damn it, MUNI.
posted by Rachel at 9:15 AM
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