Bus Report #711

The 22 is on it's way up the slight hill on 16th between Harrison and Bryant.
Out the window, to my left, a young woman stalks across the street, swinging her arms and yelling, quite loudly, in a voice that can only be described as sad, cracked out valley girl.
If she wasn't barefoot and didn't have toilet paper in her hair, she'd look like any sorority girl in anywhere, USA. She's blonde, lightly tanned, and while her clothes are a little dirty, she could be any girl on her way to class or work, in her denim skirt and her pink tank top.
She's still walking up 16th when I get out and make my way to the cafe to get my morning coffee.
She's behind me, still yelling, crying, too, and through my headphones I try to make out what she's saying, but despite the familiar inflection, the every-other-word usage of 'like', she is spouting gibberish.
She crosses the parking lot at the Potrero Center and disappears into Safeway.

Bus Report #710

A crowded 22 Fillmore bus, around 5:30 PM.

A woman from the back of the bus starts making her way forward, saying, "Excuse me, excuse me, coming through, hey, I know I'm big but not even a skinny person could get past you."
I look back at her, and smile. Because she's right - you'd have to be as thin as a ruler to squeeze past the folks knotted in the aisle.
She slips in to the seat in front of me next to her friend. She says to her friend, "And I mean, I used to be a size 18 but check me out now, I'm a 14!"
And her friend nods and says something I don't catch, and I'm still smiling, and she turns around and catches my eyes, and I give her a thumbs' up.

Bus Report #709

Sighted:

One half-dented aerosol can of either shaving cream or whipped cream, rolling down the middle of 16th Street on its own, spraying white foam with a slight hiss as it went.

More MISSING posters, all down 16th Street but I also saw a few in the Richmond, this time from a young man who hasn't been seen in days. Here's hoping someone is just overreacting.

A regular from the 22 on the 38. He smiled and hopped up so I could sit down. I thanked him but he just grinned and shook his head, and moved away.

S. from the museum, on her way home from work. We chatted a little before she got out at Church and Market.

A man who looked familiar from the back, but not The Man Who Looks Familiar From The Back.

Bus Report #708

Friday evening, on a crowded 22 Fillmore.
It was hot, too, anyone sitting in a window seat getting the full force of the sun. No fog in sight.
The bus was crowded and when we reached Church and Duboce, it got even worse.
A wheelchair passenger got on with her husband, and as soon as they were on board, the husband started pushing and shoving his way to the back door. He screamed at several women, a couple of regulars and some teens, called them bitches and that they needed to move out of his way.
With nowhere to go, they ignored him, so he yelled even louder, threatening that he'd kill them, and muttering to himself afterwards.
My seat mate shook his head. A woman across the aisle did the same, told her friend, "there are kids on this bus."
And there were, more kids than usual, little boys in school uniforms, a couple of chubby toddler girls with pierced ears. The preteen boy sitting in front of me started to fall asleep, and his mom pulled him into her lap. He didn't resist when she started rubbing his back, either. I wondered how many more moments like this they would have before he declared himself too old for such things.
The man kept cursing at people. The driver said nothing, did nothing, waited for another half dozen passengers to cram their bodies into the bus.
With the man at an even higher volume now, a woman sitting near the front of bus called out, "Can't you be a little more polite, asshole?"
A few of us laughed.
My seatmate stood up and tapped a sleepy-looking kid on the shoulder. "Hey buddy," he said, "you want to sit?"
The kid nodded and sat down next to me. He was asleep a moment later.