Bus Report #510

I got on the 22 the other night, headed home. I slid in to an empty seat next to a tiny, frail-looking little old lady, someone's favorite abuela. After a few minutes, she nudged me and asked me where I was getting out.
"Geary," I told her.
"Oh, Geary," she said, sadly. "Well, I get out at Mission."
I knew immediately why she had asked. She had several shopping bags and she thought she would have to fight her way past me to get out of the seat.
I looked at her and said, "I'll get up so you can get out, don't worry," and I smiled at her.
She seemed relieved.
When we got to Mission Street, I stood up and moved so that she could get out of the window seat with her grocery bags.
"Thank you and have a good evening," she said.
"You too," I said.