Bus Report #431
Two blasts from the past in two days. Consider my mind boggled.
Yesterday was a tough day, and my ride home was spent dozing against the window of the 22 and then sitting squashed up against a very large guy on the 2 Clement. I listened to the latest episode of Radio Lab (so great! Check it out!), and tuned out everyone around me.
As we came into the stop at 10th avenue, I glanced over at the donut shop. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone I knew. I wanted to see the Alien Donut Man, but its been at least 2 months since I last saw him and I was once again starting to worry about him.
But there he was, sitting ramrod straight in his usual seat, wearing his blue parka, his white hair looking whiter than white, making his tan skin look darker than usual. I stared at him through the window and I swear he saw me, across the street and sitting on the far side of the bus.
Tonight I was catching up with The Teacher’s Pet in Potrero. We were talking and having a snack when I caught sight of a familiar figure walking past our window.
I scrambled to turn in my seat. “It’s the Handsome South Asian Chef!” I told The Teacher’s Pet. “I can’t believe it!”
He looked older and shaggier, but healthy. He wore a baseball hat, but I couldn’t decipher the logo. He walked slowly, a loaf of bread tucked under his arm.
We watched him head up the street. I was glad I saw him.
He’s still got amazing eyes.
On my way home, I took the 22. I had my music on, loud. Most of the people who got on before Mission looked like they were going home from work. It was a quiet bus. Lots of people playing with their igadgets. One woman read a paperback copy of Blindness. Her hair fell across her face as she bent over her book.
A boy with a skateboard got on and stood near the stepwell, moving out of the way to let people get past him. He looked so familiar: I realized he looked like an old family friend, but about 40 years younger. A man in hospital scrubs sat next to me, clutching his briefcase.
A British tourist family got on at McAllister (show of hands: who thinks they were sightseeing in Alamo Square Park?): a mother and father and three daughters, one of whom was probably in her late teens early twenties and two younger girls, one maybe eleven or twelve and one about eight. The older of the two pre-teen daughters was wearing a baseball cap. A boy got on through the back door. He wore the usual teen boy uniform: baggy, beltless jeans, huge T-shirt and backwards baseball cap. The younger of the two tourist daughters looked at the boy then looked at her sister. She took her sister’s hat off and turned it around so it was backwards, then she plunked it back onto her sister’s head. I smiled.
Yesterday was a tough day, and my ride home was spent dozing against the window of the 22 and then sitting squashed up against a very large guy on the 2 Clement. I listened to the latest episode of Radio Lab (so great! Check it out!), and tuned out everyone around me.
As we came into the stop at 10th avenue, I glanced over at the donut shop. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone I knew. I wanted to see the Alien Donut Man, but its been at least 2 months since I last saw him and I was once again starting to worry about him.
But there he was, sitting ramrod straight in his usual seat, wearing his blue parka, his white hair looking whiter than white, making his tan skin look darker than usual. I stared at him through the window and I swear he saw me, across the street and sitting on the far side of the bus.
Tonight I was catching up with The Teacher’s Pet in Potrero. We were talking and having a snack when I caught sight of a familiar figure walking past our window.
I scrambled to turn in my seat. “It’s the Handsome South Asian Chef!” I told The Teacher’s Pet. “I can’t believe it!”
He looked older and shaggier, but healthy. He wore a baseball hat, but I couldn’t decipher the logo. He walked slowly, a loaf of bread tucked under his arm.
We watched him head up the street. I was glad I saw him.
He’s still got amazing eyes.
On my way home, I took the 22. I had my music on, loud. Most of the people who got on before Mission looked like they were going home from work. It was a quiet bus. Lots of people playing with their igadgets. One woman read a paperback copy of Blindness. Her hair fell across her face as she bent over her book.
A boy with a skateboard got on and stood near the stepwell, moving out of the way to let people get past him. He looked so familiar: I realized he looked like an old family friend, but about 40 years younger. A man in hospital scrubs sat next to me, clutching his briefcase.
A British tourist family got on at McAllister (show of hands: who thinks they were sightseeing in Alamo Square Park?): a mother and father and three daughters, one of whom was probably in her late teens early twenties and two younger girls, one maybe eleven or twelve and one about eight. The older of the two pre-teen daughters was wearing a baseball cap. A boy got on through the back door. He wore the usual teen boy uniform: baggy, beltless jeans, huge T-shirt and backwards baseball cap. The younger of the two tourist daughters looked at the boy then looked at her sister. She took her sister’s hat off and turned it around so it was backwards, then she plunked it back onto her sister’s head. I smiled.
posted by Rachel at 10:30 PM
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