Bus Report #947

I took the 2 Clement home this afternoon from downtown.
Even though I caught it at the last/first stop, there was still a bicycle attached to the front - forgotten, I suppose.

Hours later I was on the same 2 Clement heading back downtown to meet up with friends.
Same silent driver, same bicycle just waiting for its owner to come get it.

A man got on at 6th Ave. and went straight to the back of the bus with his armfuls of stuff.
He spent the rest of his ride throwing books all over the back of the bus, across all of the unoccupied seats. He also opened all of the windows, and then closed some of them only to reopen moments later.
His twitchy nature was making me feel twitchy, too.

Our driver. What can I say? There was something up with him.
He would not answer the woman who asked to be let out near Steiner with her granddaughter.
He would not even acknowledge that the bus stopped there. Luckily, an elderly couple sitting at the front of the bus gave her directions.

At Laguna the 2 Clement turns and runs on Post Street instead of Sutter - or at least, it is supposed to.
Our driver shot through the intersection at Laguna and kept going.

"Hey, man," I said, but then realized the futility of it all. He was not paying attention to anyone.
He drove two blocks down Sutter, much to everyone's confusion.
Then he turned onto (I think, it was dark) Gough and then flipped back to Post.

By the time we got to my stop he had completely disengaged from his passengers. He did not look at anyone or acknowledge us in the least.

I stepped out into the rain (and how much do we love the rain, drought-stricken as we are) and headed up the hill to the bar, where a smoky scotch awaited me.

Bus Report #946

This morning was a "Ms. Rachel's Neighborhood" kind of day.

On the way to the bus I ran in to Ruben, our Recology guy, and we waved to each other as we always do.

I walked past the shtetl scholar's block but didn't see him - but then just as I was walking away he tore out of his apartment and we caught up for a moment at the corner. Wished each other a good day and he hurried off.

Our bus driver was the friendly guy who reminds me of Jason. We said hi and I asked him how his weekend was (it was good, and relaxing) and then we were off.

Hi to the two women who get on at Stanyan and Hayes.

Hi to the woman who works in my building, who gets on at Hattie.

Hi to the friendly guy who gets on at Castro.

Walking from the bus stop to work, I greeted the younger guy at the garage and exchanged Thanksgiving wishes.

The woman who always waits for the 10 by SWAT? Yeah, we chatted, too.

Hope everyone has a grand weekend.

Bus Report #945

A beautifully foggy morning today.
I walked down the street and, as happens these days, crossed paths with the shtetl scholar.
We exchanged reports on our respective weekends - he went hiking, I socialized, wrote, and cooked.
"What did you make?" he asked, listening with his eyes as he does.
I told him it was all comfort food; apple sauce for days, chicken pie.
"Sounds delicious," he said.
"Have a great day, enjoy this fog," I said.
"Oh, I will. I love the fog. I miss it when it isn't here," he replied.
Me too, shtetl scholar, me, too.

Bus Report #944

If I'd been able to sleep at all last night, I'd have called in sick and stayed in bed all day today.
But no - instead I spent the night, not counting sheep, but counting nightmares.

Got up, numb, showered, numb, made tea I did not want to drink and listened to NPR tell me things I did not want to hear.

Walking to the bus I saw our friendly shtetl scholar. Today he had added a neon yellow safety vest to his outfit, and I saw, to my surprise, that the vest and his hat had the Muni logo on them.

We stopped on the sidewalk to greet each other - but neither of us said 'good' before saying 'morning'.

"You doing okay today?" I asked him.
He looked at me with such concern in his eyes. "I am, I am. What about you?"
I shrugged. Knew if I said too much, I'd start to cry.
He nodded. He earnestly quoted some poetry but I don't know the poet, but it was something about carrying on, and it was nice.
"We'll be okay because we have no choice," he said.
I agreed.
We parted ways.
I am glad to know the shtetl scholar - and somehow gladder still to know that he works for Muni.

Take care of yourselves today, everyone.

Bus Report #943

This morning, as I do many mornings, I passed a man who looks like a time traveler from an old Russian shtetl - even his hat seems out of place. He could be a scholar or a farmer, with his beard, and that timeless cap. But he is friendly, and has a slight bounce in his step.
We greeted each other as we always do.
"Did you vote yet?" he asked, as he scurried by.
"After work," I told him. "You?"
"After work, too," he confirmed.

In the Haight, a bald man stood on the corner of Clayton and Haight, standing perfectly still in a strapless, gold sequined gown. Performance art? Fashion statement? Drug-addled seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time decision? I will never know. Pretty dress, though.

The bus climbed up the hill and when we rounded the corner of Clayton and Market, the whole city looked golden below us. Light glinted off of the tall buildings downtown and the homes that cascade down the hill were all covered in that blinding yellow-white.