Bus Report #419
Muni, down and dirty.
Something's in the air, and it isn't love. It's craziness.
As seen on Muni this week so far:
Monday: White trash couple in the back of the bus, fighting over where to go. Our 22 was headed to the Marina, which is where the man wanted to go. They talked about banks it would be easy to stick up, people they knew who had robbed banks in the Mission, and the woman cooed over the man's new cologne, which she claimed smelled "just like that Gio by Armani stuff."
At Church Street, the woman mentioned she wanted to get a bite to eat, and her boyfriend got pissed off.
"You always want to eat," he complained. "No. We're going to the Marina, we're going to P-Town."
P-Town? There's only one P-Town I know of and it's Provincetown, MA. And you can't get there on the bus. Did he mean Pacific Heights?
The woman decided she'd rather go out to the zoo.
"No way," said the man. "It's too cold over there and too overcast. Forget it. If you want to get food, fine, you can get out of this bus right now."
She was hurt. They sat in silence for a few blocks. Then the man took out his new cologne and sprayed himself liberally. It stank, I coughed, hoping he would take the hint.
The woman opened their Spiderman backpack and took some things out of it. The man tipped a prescription bottle full of pot onto a piece of notebook paper and started to roll it up. Notebook paper? Really?
A man got on at Hayes and sat down right in front of them. He finished his phone call and put his phone away. He sniffed. "Man, that smells good. Can you spare any?"
The trashy couple declined.
He asked again. "Not even a quarter?"
Not even a quarter.
I got out the bus at Geary. The air on the corner of Geary and Fillmore had never smelled as good as it did then.
Yesterday (Tuesday) afternoon I waited at the Fremont and Market Street stop for a 38. Across the street from our bus stop was a trash can, and standing next to the trash can talking to himself was a guy who seemed nuts but not dangerous. No one really paid any attention to him.
Suddenly, I noticed he was spraying the sidewalk with water. No, wait, that's not water... The guy was fully exposed and hosing down Market Street with an impressive amount of urine.
Yeah.
Nasty. I did not need to see that.
A few of us groaned and looked away. One woman turned all the way around so she was facing the opposite direction. The man standing next to me looked completely disgusted.
The crazy guy finished and walked away. The woman was still facing the bus shelter, her eyes closed.
"He's done," I said.
We got on the 38. The bus got packed before we'd even gone two blocks, and I managed to tune out most of the ride, listening to the New Yorker Fiction Podcast (an excellent story, by Isaac Bashevis Singer.)
I gradually became aware of people yelling behind me, so I turned around and tried to figure out what was going on.
A big, bullish, shaved head guy with recent cuts on his face was squaring off (sort of, since the bus was so crowded and everyone was so squished) with a short, wiry man in a baseball cap and glasses and his girlfriend, a woman with fried-looking hair and acid washed jeans. I think the big guy was angry because the couple had brushed up against him or something. Whatever the problem was, it was something stupid and it had gotten to the point where everyone in the back of the bus was urging the three of them to get the hell out of the bus.
The driver, of course, did nothing, though I am sure he could see them in the back door mirror.
Finally someone convinced the couple to get out at Leavenworth and the big guy continued to threaten them through the open door. The wiry guy asked the big guy if he wanted to "get into it," taking off his jacket and handing it to his shrieking harpy of a girlfriend.
"Shut the fucking door!" the other riders were yelling to some kids who were standing in the stepwell.
We finally got moving, thankfully. My seatmate said something to me but I didn't hear her.
I don't even want to think of what could possibly happen next, but I guess we'll see when 5 PM rolls around!
Something's in the air, and it isn't love. It's craziness.
As seen on Muni this week so far:
Monday: White trash couple in the back of the bus, fighting over where to go. Our 22 was headed to the Marina, which is where the man wanted to go. They talked about banks it would be easy to stick up, people they knew who had robbed banks in the Mission, and the woman cooed over the man's new cologne, which she claimed smelled "just like that Gio by Armani stuff."
At Church Street, the woman mentioned she wanted to get a bite to eat, and her boyfriend got pissed off.
"You always want to eat," he complained. "No. We're going to the Marina, we're going to P-Town."
P-Town? There's only one P-Town I know of and it's Provincetown, MA. And you can't get there on the bus. Did he mean Pacific Heights?
The woman decided she'd rather go out to the zoo.
"No way," said the man. "It's too cold over there and too overcast. Forget it. If you want to get food, fine, you can get out of this bus right now."
She was hurt. They sat in silence for a few blocks. Then the man took out his new cologne and sprayed himself liberally. It stank, I coughed, hoping he would take the hint.
The woman opened their Spiderman backpack and took some things out of it. The man tipped a prescription bottle full of pot onto a piece of notebook paper and started to roll it up. Notebook paper? Really?
A man got on at Hayes and sat down right in front of them. He finished his phone call and put his phone away. He sniffed. "Man, that smells good. Can you spare any?"
The trashy couple declined.
He asked again. "Not even a quarter?"
Not even a quarter.
I got out the bus at Geary. The air on the corner of Geary and Fillmore had never smelled as good as it did then.
Yesterday (Tuesday) afternoon I waited at the Fremont and Market Street stop for a 38. Across the street from our bus stop was a trash can, and standing next to the trash can talking to himself was a guy who seemed nuts but not dangerous. No one really paid any attention to him.
Suddenly, I noticed he was spraying the sidewalk with water. No, wait, that's not water... The guy was fully exposed and hosing down Market Street with an impressive amount of urine.
Yeah.
Nasty. I did not need to see that.
A few of us groaned and looked away. One woman turned all the way around so she was facing the opposite direction. The man standing next to me looked completely disgusted.
The crazy guy finished and walked away. The woman was still facing the bus shelter, her eyes closed.
"He's done," I said.
We got on the 38. The bus got packed before we'd even gone two blocks, and I managed to tune out most of the ride, listening to the New Yorker Fiction Podcast (an excellent story, by Isaac Bashevis Singer.)
I gradually became aware of people yelling behind me, so I turned around and tried to figure out what was going on.
A big, bullish, shaved head guy with recent cuts on his face was squaring off (sort of, since the bus was so crowded and everyone was so squished) with a short, wiry man in a baseball cap and glasses and his girlfriend, a woman with fried-looking hair and acid washed jeans. I think the big guy was angry because the couple had brushed up against him or something. Whatever the problem was, it was something stupid and it had gotten to the point where everyone in the back of the bus was urging the three of them to get the hell out of the bus.
The driver, of course, did nothing, though I am sure he could see them in the back door mirror.
Finally someone convinced the couple to get out at Leavenworth and the big guy continued to threaten them through the open door. The wiry guy asked the big guy if he wanted to "get into it," taking off his jacket and handing it to his shrieking harpy of a girlfriend.
"Shut the fucking door!" the other riders were yelling to some kids who were standing in the stepwell.
We finally got moving, thankfully. My seatmate said something to me but I didn't hear her.
I don't even want to think of what could possibly happen next, but I guess we'll see when 5 PM rolls around!
posted by Rachel at 9:34 AM
2 Comments:
Sorry I'm a little late on this comment, Rachel, but I've heard people call Pacifica "P-Town." Maybe that's where he wanted to go.
Thanks, TK. How bizarre.
Post a Comment
<< Home