Bus Report #557
Foggy and dark morning commute, foggy and darkish evening commute.
This morning I rode the 22 with the older nurse, the woman who always has to stand right next to me, the big guy, coffee cup girl and Shirley. It was a quiet ride and I got to the coffee shop while it was still dark out. I took my time inside, chatting with the elderly man I've been talking to in the mornings. He mumbled a lot today, but I am pretty sure he was talking about the Giants and their chances for the afternoon game. I smiled at him, said "Go Giants" and told him I hoped he'd have a good day.
"You too, dear," he said as I went outside.
This afternoon I made a mental note to take the 22 home instead of the 10. I usually take the 22, but sometimes the 10 comes first, and I am impatient. The 10 would be painfully slow, I thought, what with people leaving the ballpark after the game.
I checked NextBus before I left work. The 22 was coming in 1 minute, 2 minutes, and 25 minutes. Damn. The 10, on the other hand, would be at the stop in 12 minutes. It looked like I was doomed to take the 10, unless a 22 showed up while I waited.
No such luck, the 10 it was, a nice empty 10. Maybe other people were trying to avoid the ballpark too.
I was surprised to find our commute was actually a little faster than usual. Muni (the 30 Stockton, some of the commuter buses by CalTrain) was a tangle of slow buses but once we got passed the Borders (soon to be former-Borders) it was smooth sailing up to Market.
Giants fans crowded the patios at Paragon and 21st Amendment.
Some Phillies fans waited for sandwiches at the new Grilled Cheese Kitchen.
A man got on the bus wearing a baseball hat in the color and design of the Cuban flag. The had said CUBA in big letters on the back.
At Market I switched to a 38L.
Just a handful of passengers playing musical seats in the back of the bus. I soon found out why. The man sitting behind me was chewing very fruity, very nasty chewing gum. The smell was intense, like strong bubble gum and something sour. Ugh.
A few seats in front of me, two boyfriends fresh from the Giants win (and probably a few too many beers) tried to get comfortable in their plastic seats. One of them had a huge sticker on his back advertising the ballot measure advocating for pot legalization. The other man wore his Giants jersey and sunglasses even though it was already getting dark. They kept slumping against each other, one putting an arm around the other's shoulders, then switching positions a moment later. A younger kid sat next to the man in the Giants shirt. He watched their every move.
A very tall man stood in front of me. When he stood straight, his head grazed the bus ceiling. He slouched and bent his legs so he wouldn't bump the roof whenever the bus lurched around.
Market Street was a sea of orange and black clad Giants supporters, dozens of bicyclists weaving through the traffic, people on their way home from work and shopping. Our bus was full to capacity before we even hit Union Square.
Still and all, I was home at my usual time, no worse for the wear.
I walked up the street past the donut shop.
The Alien Donut Man was in his usual seat in the middle of the shop. He saw me and watched me cross the window. Then he waved, a small, quick gesture. I smiled and waved back. Always glad to see him, always glad to see he's still on this planet.
This morning I rode the 22 with the older nurse, the woman who always has to stand right next to me, the big guy, coffee cup girl and Shirley. It was a quiet ride and I got to the coffee shop while it was still dark out. I took my time inside, chatting with the elderly man I've been talking to in the mornings. He mumbled a lot today, but I am pretty sure he was talking about the Giants and their chances for the afternoon game. I smiled at him, said "Go Giants" and told him I hoped he'd have a good day.
"You too, dear," he said as I went outside.
This afternoon I made a mental note to take the 22 home instead of the 10. I usually take the 22, but sometimes the 10 comes first, and I am impatient. The 10 would be painfully slow, I thought, what with people leaving the ballpark after the game.
I checked NextBus before I left work. The 22 was coming in 1 minute, 2 minutes, and 25 minutes. Damn. The 10, on the other hand, would be at the stop in 12 minutes. It looked like I was doomed to take the 10, unless a 22 showed up while I waited.
No such luck, the 10 it was, a nice empty 10. Maybe other people were trying to avoid the ballpark too.
I was surprised to find our commute was actually a little faster than usual. Muni (the 30 Stockton, some of the commuter buses by CalTrain) was a tangle of slow buses but once we got passed the Borders (soon to be former-Borders) it was smooth sailing up to Market.
Giants fans crowded the patios at Paragon and 21st Amendment.
Some Phillies fans waited for sandwiches at the new Grilled Cheese Kitchen.
A man got on the bus wearing a baseball hat in the color and design of the Cuban flag. The had said CUBA in big letters on the back.
At Market I switched to a 38L.
Just a handful of passengers playing musical seats in the back of the bus. I soon found out why. The man sitting behind me was chewing very fruity, very nasty chewing gum. The smell was intense, like strong bubble gum and something sour. Ugh.
A few seats in front of me, two boyfriends fresh from the Giants win (and probably a few too many beers) tried to get comfortable in their plastic seats. One of them had a huge sticker on his back advertising the ballot measure advocating for pot legalization. The other man wore his Giants jersey and sunglasses even though it was already getting dark. They kept slumping against each other, one putting an arm around the other's shoulders, then switching positions a moment later. A younger kid sat next to the man in the Giants shirt. He watched their every move.
A very tall man stood in front of me. When he stood straight, his head grazed the bus ceiling. He slouched and bent his legs so he wouldn't bump the roof whenever the bus lurched around.
Market Street was a sea of orange and black clad Giants supporters, dozens of bicyclists weaving through the traffic, people on their way home from work and shopping. Our bus was full to capacity before we even hit Union Square.
Still and all, I was home at my usual time, no worse for the wear.
I walked up the street past the donut shop.
The Alien Donut Man was in his usual seat in the middle of the shop. He saw me and watched me cross the window. Then he waved, a small, quick gesture. I smiled and waved back. Always glad to see him, always glad to see he's still on this planet.
posted by Rachel at 7:18 PM
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