Bus Report #870
My seatmate was a woman in a short jacket and an even shorter skirt, and flip flops. She was cold - I could see the goosebumps all over her bare legs. Not someone used to micro-climates and San Francisco layering practices, I supposed.
The bus filled up at Mission and someone who got on was blaring very loud music, I don't know what the style is called but it sounded like what you'd hear in a Bollywood film. Not bad music, but not something everyone on the bus needed to hear.
The problem was, the music was so loud it was hard to figure out where it was coming from. The friendly nurse and I exchanged annoyed glances. I turned up the volume on my headphones and tried to listen to my own music. Impossible.
I kept looking around for the culprit. Was it the woman playing with her phone two rows ahead of me? Was it her seatmate, with the peacock feather tattoo on the back of her neck? Or was it the woman in blue hot pants and the American flag halter top with the pork pie hat and the granny cart?
Everyone was a suspect.
Finally, at Church and Market, a man from the back of the bus walked forward, slowly, looking at everyone.
He zeroed in on the man sitting in front of me and said, "Would you mind turning it down, I can't hear my own music on my headphones."
The man sitting in front of me, heavy set, baseball-hatted, dusty-jacketed, overall incredibly non-descript, looked at the man who had just asked a very reasonable request. "Fuck you, I can do what I want. Why don't you use your headphones?" he spat.
The polite man said, "I already am," and returned to his seat.
The man sitting in front of me turned off his music to make a phone call. "Hold up," he told the person on the phone. "Lemme put you on speaker."
The friendly nurse and I exchanged disapproving looks and shook our heads. Someone else laughed, then groaned.
The jerk got off at the next stop and everyone, I am sure, was glad to see him go.