Bus Report #752

I like how sometimes the buses announce things other than the bus line and stops on the digital displays on the front and sides of the bus.
I had seen a few of them before, like "Equality for All", "Go Giants!", "Go 49ers!" and "Sail to the America's Cup!" but I was touched by the newest announcement, "We Stand With Boston."
Thanks to my adopted home for supporting my original home.
It means a lot.

Bus Report #751

There were a lot of brokenhearted passengers on the 22 Fillmore last week, I imagine.

On Tuesday I waited for the 22, and when it finally arrived, I did not recognize the driver. I got on and said good morning, and walked towards the back.
"Excuse me!" said the driver, beckoning to someone.
A man who had just boarded pointed to his chest, but the driver shook her head and said, "You! The lady!"
I took off my headphones and walked to the front of the bus. "What's going on?" I asked, prepared to show her I'd already paid.
She smiled at me and said, "Do you know the regular driver on this route?"
"Lacey?" I asked. "Sure."
"She got a promotion," said the driver. "But she didn't get a chance to say goodbye to anyone, so she asked me to say goodbye to the woman with the orange bag, and I guess that's you."
I laughed. "Aw, that's so sweet! Give her my congratulations."
"I will," said the driver, who next introduced herself as Terri. "She has a better schedule now, with weekends off."
"That's great for her," I said. I returned to my seat and we continued on, rolling up Fillmore Street.

Bus Report #750

Last night I was planning to take the 19 Polk to meet up with the Tuesday night folks at It's A Grind.
Usually there is a bus right as I leave work for the night, but I double checked NextBus just in case.
Man, was I glad I checked...Because the tracker was saying 39 minutes, 45 minutes and 52 minutes.
It didn't look like there was any reason for this (I checked SFMTA too, and they didn't have any info about delays) but I didn't want to chance anything.
I walked down to a bus stop where I knew I could also catch the 10 - which I would take downtown and then transfer to the 1 - not the fastest or most direct way to get to my destination, but it seemed the least likely to strand me on a corner for 30 minutes with no bus in sight.
This whole time, there were no 19 Polk buses, though there were bunches of people waiting at the other 19 Polk stops.
The 10 arrived and I got on, and we had a painless trip downtown.
I just barely caught the 1 California at Sacramento and Sansome, and I got to Polk Street with enough time to stop in to a City Discount.
Twenty minutes later, looking out the window of the cafe, I saw three 19 Polk buses back-to-back, followed a moment later by another bus.
Good lord.

Later, on my way home, I rode a crowded (and then less crowded, and then almost empty) 1 California back out to the neighborhood. My seat mate on the long bench seat at the back of the bus was trying to type on his laptop as we rolled up the street, but the laptop kept sliding around until he finally admitted half-defeat and held the computer with his left hand while pecking out words with his right.

Bus Report #749

Yesterday morning on the 22 Fillmore, and everything was business as usual. Lacey and her admirers sitting up front, the 80's lady with her too-thick makeup and her hightops, the two construction workers tearing around the corner and dashing to the bus.
I settled in to my seat, next to a man who really would have preferred his backpack to have the seat instead of me.
A couple rows ahead of us there was an unassuming older woman, a fleece vest over her hospital scrubs, rocking out to music on her headphones. She wasn't just nodding her head to the music, or rolling her shoulders. This woman was capital-D-Dancing, even if she was sitting down the whole time.
I loved watching her dance moves, even down to some subtle arm gestures.

A mom and her two kids got on and sat a few seats away from the dancer. One of the kids, a little girl, couldn't stop staring at the dancer. She'd poke her little face out from the hood of her bright pink jacket, stare a little, and then slouch back down in her seat.