How I spent my Friday afternoon commute
I went out to catch the 22 Fillmore, a little bit later than usual. The only bus that came was one that was only going to Potrero, but since I wasn't in a rush I decided that would be fine, then I would wait for a 33 Stanyan.
So we start rattling towards Potrero. At Vermont, a 33 Stanyan is turning onto 16th. Our driver honks at him to wait up, and I dash out of the bus to get on it. He pulls away just as I reach the back of the bus.
I angrily stomp up the hill to Potrero. I can see the bus waiting in front of the Potrero Center, so I book it, running, pumping my arms, sprinting across the street.
The bus takes off just as I pass the Boston Market.
I wait in the bus shelter, arms crossed, mad at the 33 Stanyan for not waiting for me.
The 22 Fillmore that was going out of service stops in front of McDonald's and spits everyone out.
A moment later, Ebony is standing next to me. We discuss MUNI service cuts, kids these days, and East Coast people versus West Coast people.
She asks me if I have been to the new De Young yet, and I tell her no.
She rummages in her bag and hands me a couple of VIP passes. Her company did a lot of the graphics for the museum and got a ton of comp tickets.
I thanked her profusely.
Eventually, a 33 Stanyan showed up and I got on.
Uneventful ride for the most part. Shaggy, smelly, drunk man lurched onto the bus at Haight and Stanyan. He sat right behind me gobbling chocolate. The smell of chocolate and alcohol made me feel ill.
I leaned as far forward in my seat as possible.
I was walking up Clement when I saw a familiar face across the street. It was W. from my writing class. He walked me home, and we caught up on things as we walked. He's nice, funny, and a great writer.