Bus Report #778
This morning I waited for the 22 Fillmore in the cold dark, watched a man dash across the street to get some free newspapers so he could cover the bench he wanted to take a nap on.
The bus arrived and it was full of familiar faces. Mr. Taylor and the smiley teenage girl, the mom with the cute little wiggle worm baby, the man who always smells like hot Ethiopian spices, the man who works at Bi-Rite, the two loud construction workers and the woman who always looks worried about something.
At Hayes a couple of guys from the halfway house got on the bus. One of them, in his paint-spattered pants and faded baseball cap, always has a smile and a kind word for the people sitting around him. He grinned and waved at the baby and asked his mom how old he was (7 months this week).
A moment later I saw a couple of other passengers smiling at him as he handed the baby's mom a folded $20 bill. She thanked him and tucked the money into her purse.
I got off the bus and walked down 16th to work. For once, and probably for the only time, Potrero Hill smelled delicious this morning.
Like schmaltzy chicken soup and warm, sour red cabbage. As I turned the corner to walk up our street, the smell shifted to something else equally as good - Tabatchnick brand split pea soup.
The bus arrived and it was full of familiar faces. Mr. Taylor and the smiley teenage girl, the mom with the cute little wiggle worm baby, the man who always smells like hot Ethiopian spices, the man who works at Bi-Rite, the two loud construction workers and the woman who always looks worried about something.
At Hayes a couple of guys from the halfway house got on the bus. One of them, in his paint-spattered pants and faded baseball cap, always has a smile and a kind word for the people sitting around him. He grinned and waved at the baby and asked his mom how old he was (7 months this week).
A moment later I saw a couple of other passengers smiling at him as he handed the baby's mom a folded $20 bill. She thanked him and tucked the money into her purse.
I got off the bus and walked down 16th to work. For once, and probably for the only time, Potrero Hill smelled delicious this morning.
Like schmaltzy chicken soup and warm, sour red cabbage. As I turned the corner to walk up our street, the smell shifted to something else equally as good - Tabatchnick brand split pea soup.
posted by Rachel at 8:15 AM
5 Comments:
Your observations about Potrero Hill are wonderful and bring to mind a time when Potrero Hill most often smelled burnt coffee and industrial mayonnaise processing. Those were the days when the Best Foods plant was on Bryant and 17th and Hills Bros. Coffee was roasted higher up the hill. Some mornings smelled of fresh-baked bread, thanks to the Hostess and Kilpatrick's bakeries at the foot of the hill. All gone for years now. Very sad, at least for me, but most pleasant memories. I've written a little sketch of that time here: http://dancingonthinice.wordpress.com/2010/02/10/another-lifetime/
Your writing always inspires. Thank you.
By the way, I mentioned how much I enjoy your blog on Twitter this morning (yes, I "tweet," god help me) http://twitter.com/tobiemarx/status/403932757400637440. I hope it brings some traffic your way.
Wow, thanks for the history lesson! I think I remember the smell of the Hostess factory but I can't be sure. If nothing else, the aromas of Anchor Steam still pervade this place and it is a comfort.
Thanks for tweeting about FCN, it is much appreciated. Hope you are doing well!
It is just when I think I know all about blogs, I run into a brilliant one that proves I'm wrong.
Thank you so much, To live that day! I really appreciate it.
Happy Thanksgiving!
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