Bus Report #367
Last night I went downtown (10 Townsend to 38 Geary to Stockton Street. Yeah, I could have walked but the bus was right there) to pick up my dear little computer (all better now) and then decided to take the 2 Clement home. I caught it in front of my favorite Mayan-inspired medical building and squished in to a seat in the back.
At Polk Street a woman came running up Sutter. She stuck her fingers in her mouth to whistle for us to wait. It was shrill and got everyone's attention, but the driver didn't wait for her.
At the next stop, there she was again, whistling and running, but not really running fast enough. She didn't look like she meant it, you know?
The bus started to pull away from the curb and she slammed her fist into the side of the bus, still whistling.
The driver let her on.
Everyone looked to see who she was.
I expected a hardened MUNI rider, but she was a older-middle-aged woman with permed hair, a black trenchcoat and a San Francisco map crumpled in her hand.
She got out by the JCC.
We passed the former home of Cafe lo Cubano. I was sad to see the place close, but I think their demise was set in motion back when they stopped being really Cuban and became more... I don't know... more your average cafe?
I loved the place when I could go in and hear Cuban-inflected Spanish and when the whole menu was Cuban. Anyway, they're gone, its sad.
I saw a familiar pair of blue shoes out the window. It was E, who I haven't seen in a while. She got on my bus and I waved to her. She came over and sat down. We caught up for a few minutes until we got to her stop.
This morning I was a few minutes late to the 38 stop so I stood with the slightly later crowd.
Nikolas talked to another commuter, smiling and joking with him.
The bus flagger tried to flag down the 38L, as usual to no avail.
The 38 came, and despite her flagging the driver pulled up in front of me and let me in first. I sat across from a row of serious-looking women with big hairdos and small purses, and the bus flagger, who kept peering out the window looking for a 38L to switch to.
On the 22 I sat with Carmen. She was listening to Dean Martin on her Discman.
We chatted, joked, and caught up with each other. All is well in her world, which is good.
The rest of my ride was uneventful. Potrero Hill seemed quiet this morning. I can see the leaves on the trees are starting to turn, which means its almost my favorite time of year.
At Polk Street a woman came running up Sutter. She stuck her fingers in her mouth to whistle for us to wait. It was shrill and got everyone's attention, but the driver didn't wait for her.
At the next stop, there she was again, whistling and running, but not really running fast enough. She didn't look like she meant it, you know?
The bus started to pull away from the curb and she slammed her fist into the side of the bus, still whistling.
The driver let her on.
Everyone looked to see who she was.
I expected a hardened MUNI rider, but she was a older-middle-aged woman with permed hair, a black trenchcoat and a San Francisco map crumpled in her hand.
She got out by the JCC.
We passed the former home of Cafe lo Cubano. I was sad to see the place close, but I think their demise was set in motion back when they stopped being really Cuban and became more... I don't know... more your average cafe?
I loved the place when I could go in and hear Cuban-inflected Spanish and when the whole menu was Cuban. Anyway, they're gone, its sad.
I saw a familiar pair of blue shoes out the window. It was E, who I haven't seen in a while. She got on my bus and I waved to her. She came over and sat down. We caught up for a few minutes until we got to her stop.
This morning I was a few minutes late to the 38 stop so I stood with the slightly later crowd.
Nikolas talked to another commuter, smiling and joking with him.
The bus flagger tried to flag down the 38L, as usual to no avail.
The 38 came, and despite her flagging the driver pulled up in front of me and let me in first. I sat across from a row of serious-looking women with big hairdos and small purses, and the bus flagger, who kept peering out the window looking for a 38L to switch to.
On the 22 I sat with Carmen. She was listening to Dean Martin on her Discman.
We chatted, joked, and caught up with each other. All is well in her world, which is good.
The rest of my ride was uneventful. Potrero Hill seemed quiet this morning. I can see the leaves on the trees are starting to turn, which means its almost my favorite time of year.
posted by Rachel at 9:08 AM
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