Bus Report #520

This week on the 22...

Yesterday morning, a man got on my 22 with three huge, empty kegs of Red Hook. It took him a few minutes to get on, since he could only carry two at a time. He managed to completely block the back door for the duration of his ride. He got out at Haight, taking two trips down to the sidewalk to move his kegs. Then he took another two trips, rolling them around the corner to the 71 Haight/Noriega stop.

In the afternoon, a couple got on at Valencia (or, as the idiotic new voice recording says, Valensha). The woman wore a bright yellow SAN FRANCISCO sweatshirt. She had a suitcase and two duffels. Her boyfriend had a back pack and a gigantic cardboard box built specifically for shipping a bike, with a bike in it. On the bus. Yeah. They moved back to right next to me, where they spent the next twenty minutes blocking people in every direction. The woman smelled as though she had just spent the morning working in a fish packing plant. I tried not to be sick.
They finally got out at Grove, after a lot of yelling, shoving, and trying to tilt the bike box out the back door.

A man tried to sneak on through the back door, but the door closed before he could get on, and his arm got stuck in the door. Finally, someone stepped down to let him on. No harm done.

This morning, a very twitchy, very chatty, very animated man sat down next to one of the older ladies who gets on at Oak. She tried her best to be polite as he immediately started talking to her, showing her an article in the B.A.R., and laughing hysterically. She looked like she wanted to escape, but she kept her cool for the rest of the ride. He kept jabbering. Everyone else ignored him.

Bus Report #519

This morning out front the Fillmore, I noticed the same teenagers that were camped out yesterday morning were still there today. This Miyavi (sp?) person/group must be popular... I have no idea who he/they are. I am okay with that. Those kids must be mega fans, to camp out in front of the Fillmore for two days. Whew.

On the 22, I sat with Carmen again, the bright spot on those days when I am running late. She said, "I love this music," and showed me her igadget. She was listening to Johnny Cash.

In front of us sat the man with the crushed faux leather lavender hat, the two Latinas I sat behind on my way home last night, and the Austin coffee cup girl.

Carmen got out at her stop, walked the rest of the way to her office with the Austin coffee cup girl.

The bus rolled down 16th Street.

I watched the pigeon man wander down the street, carrying a bedroll.

Valencia Street looked pretty, despite all the construction. The new asphalt makes the street look softer, somehow.

Bus Report #518

This morning on Muni was truly a Monday morning.
My 38 Geary smelled awful, and I couldn't figure out who was the culprit.
I got out at Fillmore and was glad for the fresh air. I checked the schedule at the Fillmore: yesterday there was a line around the block for concert tickets, and I wanted to see if I could figure out who was playing. I am still not sure, but there were a bunch of teenagers camped out by the post office. Different shows, I think.

I waited for the 22. And waited. And waited. Listened to most of an episode of This American Life. Finally, the bus showed up and we got on. Carmen was sitting towards the back, so we were able to chat and gossip. It lessened the sting of getting down to work a half hour later than usual, but still.

I walked the rest of the way to work, fast, pausing to chat with my friend at the garage, then taking another moment to appreciate a robin red breast perched on the fence under the over pass.

Bus Report #517

Last night, another crowded 22 Fillmore.
A woman with a large, rectangular boom box pushed her way through the back door. The boom box was old, and on it's last legs, if the copious amounts of duct tape wound around it were any indication. She was playing some R&B style ballads, not awful but certainly much too loud for the bus.

A couple and their what? son? nephew? got on at Potrero. The woman was in a wheelchair, and her husband gently rolled her into a wheelchair spot and stood behind her, his hands clutching the handles. The boy who was with them had an oddly lumpy face with a scar down the side. He had a cane but didn't seem to use it as anything more than an accessory. The three of them squished together in the wheelchair spot. The boy said something I didn't hear, and I could see all his front teeth were capped in gold.

A man with very short, knobbly fingers stood at the end of my seat, holding on to the pole. He had horrible welts or hives, sores or something all over his arms and hands, and on his face. I immediately diagnosed him with Hanson's disease (Leprosy.)*
He proceeded to cough, pick at a hairy mole on his neck, and then he sat down next to a woman who looked like she wanted to climb out the window when she saw him.
I decided not to touch anything else on the bus for the rest of the ride.

*I am not a medical professional, just a jerk. He probably just had a rash.

Bus Report #516

As seen on Muni, the past few days.

Four people on oxygen (in the space of three hours, on the same day): two on Geary, blocks and blocks apart; one on Market Street; one waiting for a 2 Clement over on Sutter.

A woman with a trash bag full of skeins of yarn, all different brands and colors, all acrylic, from what I could tell.

Kids in graduation garb: different graduations across the city, lots of balloons and flowers, groups of celebrants dotting the corners off Fillmore.

Wheelchair passengers, both directions of my commute yesterday.
One was quiet, while the other growled at the other passengers and refused to wear the seat belt. Since his chair didn't have brakes, the driver pulled our 38 Geary over and went up to him. "Sir, you can't keep taking off the belt," he said, politely, before he reattached the seat belt and we kept going.

Chatty and friendly folks waiting for the 2 Clement at the Fillmore stop. We ended up discussing the weather, and I made them laugh telling them about the guy I saw who was wearing short shorts that said something across his ass, like those velour track pants with the blinged out 'Juicy' or "Princess' written on them.

Bus Report #515

The 22 Fillmore was late this morning.
I waited with the sweet, elderly nurse, who shook her head, said knowingly, "It's pay day, that's the day they all call in sick."
She meant the drivers. We've had this conversation before. I nodded.
"Yeah," I said.
The bus eventually arrived and I stepped back so she could get in first.
When I started walking to the back of the bus I saw Carmen. We smiled at each other and she moved up so we could sit together in our usual spot.
We caught up on the news from the past couple of months. Nothing earth shattering from either of us.
Seeing Carmen always makes my morning, and lessens my anger at the bus being late.