Bus Report #183
Rainy season in San Francisco. Yuck.
Saturday I took a wet 38 Geary to Fillmore, where I decided to hop a cab down to the Mission. I stopped in at Roots Division to check out B's art exhibit and surrounding craft sale. Nice. I picked up a Roots Division class schedule and they have some cool offerings.
After that, I tramped down Mission to Writers With Drinks at the Make Out Room, with a quick stop at Doc's Clock for a drink and to dry off. The bartender was super friendly and the guy sitting beside me was making pretty amazing art out of torn up napkins. The only way I can describe his work (because it really was art, seriously) is to liken it to the Mexican paper cuts you see around the Day of the Dead. Very cool.
When I was sufficiently dry, I said good night to the guys and went to Writers With Drinks. Great concept, something I've been all about for a while now. Why not have writers reading onstage in front of a well-lubricated with alcohol audience? Indeed. I stayed for a couple of writers and then left. It was still too wet out for a bus so I hailed a cab.
Yesterday I had to run to catch my 22 Fillmore. The driver barely stopped for me, then she opened the door and said, loudly, "you'll have to step up."
Well, yeah, of course! I flashed my pass at her and lurched down the aisle as she took off.
I said hello to the dreadlocked dental technician and the handsome South Asian chef.
Carmen was saving me a seat.
This morning the rain was coming down in sheets. I huddled under the overhang on Fillmore with the handsome South Asian chef, some students and day laborers, and the dreadlocked dental technician.
He said, "I didn't recognize you in that cap," because I had a black hat pulled down over my hair.
I told him I was trying not to get sick(er).
The ride took a full hour today. Everyone was wet, tempers were short and I swear people's brains were just not working:
People had wet umbrellas on seats, making the seats un-sit-able.
People were crowded in the front when there was plenty of room in the back.
People kept spacing out and missing their stops, and blaming the driver. Not his fault.
The original chef, the guy who's been riding the bus for years (red hair, beard, messy outward appearance but friendly) stopped to chat with the handsome South Asian chef. It gave me a moment of thrill, hearing the two of them talking. The bus world is even smaller than you'd think.
Saturday I took a wet 38 Geary to Fillmore, where I decided to hop a cab down to the Mission. I stopped in at Roots Division to check out B's art exhibit and surrounding craft sale. Nice. I picked up a Roots Division class schedule and they have some cool offerings.
After that, I tramped down Mission to Writers With Drinks at the Make Out Room, with a quick stop at Doc's Clock for a drink and to dry off. The bartender was super friendly and the guy sitting beside me was making pretty amazing art out of torn up napkins. The only way I can describe his work (because it really was art, seriously) is to liken it to the Mexican paper cuts you see around the Day of the Dead. Very cool.
When I was sufficiently dry, I said good night to the guys and went to Writers With Drinks. Great concept, something I've been all about for a while now. Why not have writers reading onstage in front of a well-lubricated with alcohol audience? Indeed. I stayed for a couple of writers and then left. It was still too wet out for a bus so I hailed a cab.
Yesterday I had to run to catch my 22 Fillmore. The driver barely stopped for me, then she opened the door and said, loudly, "you'll have to step up."
Well, yeah, of course! I flashed my pass at her and lurched down the aisle as she took off.
I said hello to the dreadlocked dental technician and the handsome South Asian chef.
Carmen was saving me a seat.
This morning the rain was coming down in sheets. I huddled under the overhang on Fillmore with the handsome South Asian chef, some students and day laborers, and the dreadlocked dental technician.
He said, "I didn't recognize you in that cap," because I had a black hat pulled down over my hair.
I told him I was trying not to get sick(er).
The ride took a full hour today. Everyone was wet, tempers were short and I swear people's brains were just not working:
People had wet umbrellas on seats, making the seats un-sit-able.
People were crowded in the front when there was plenty of room in the back.
People kept spacing out and missing their stops, and blaming the driver. Not his fault.
The original chef, the guy who's been riding the bus for years (red hair, beard, messy outward appearance but friendly) stopped to chat with the handsome South Asian chef. It gave me a moment of thrill, hearing the two of them talking. The bus world is even smaller than you'd think.
posted by Rachel at 12:18 PM
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