Bus Report #982

The bus has been mostly uneventful lately. Quiet, disengaged drivers, silent passengers, nothing out of the ordinary.

Except last night.

A man got on the 10 Townsend by the ballpark. He moved to the back of the bus and started fidgeting with something in his hands. I thought he was rolling a joint, at least that's what it looked like.

He kept glancing back at the woman sitting in the back row, behind him.

Finally she asked if he wanted to sit back there, and he did, so she moved to the front of the bus and he settled back into her seat.

I spaced out, listening to a radio show, and didn't give the man a second thought until we got to Folsom Street. The man was staring straight ahead, his mouth slightly open. His hand was in his pants and there was no way to ignore what he was doing.

Rush hour, 10 Townsend bus, backseat masterbator.

Great.

I got out at the next stop. Didn't say anything to our driver, and I'm still wondering if I should have said something.

Bus Report #981

Living in a post-Leon as our morning driver world, sigh.
The new driver is fine - but he is slow as can be, and not very friendly.
We don't all need to be best buddies, but sheesh.

Arsicault Bakery has been teasing me all week with the scent of their delicious buttery croissants wafting from the kitchen out onto the street where I wait for the 33 in the mornings. Heavenly.

The other day there was a woman on the bus with the most magnificent shoes. Oh, how I loved those shoes. I could not stop staring.
They were grey and black, with a small split at the front and a small heel. I can't do them justice, just know they were beautiful.
She wore them with cute socks. Oh, man. Those were some fabulous shoes.

Mauricio was on my bus on Tuesday morning. He even slid over into the window seat for me.
"Raquel, where have you been lately?" he said, and we chatted for a bit in Spanish and English, as we do, until it was time for me to get out at my stop.

Last night Muni out of Potrero Hill was a mess, because of the terrible shooting at UPS (and the earlier street closings and reroutes).
There were a lot of irritated people waiting for buses, and then on the bus, too, when we were finally able to board.
But I wasn't complaining. I was thinking about all the UPS folks, and hoping our guys were all safe (they are, thankfully).
 It was strange to see the building with police officers standing guard. Yellow caution tape trailed along the sidewalk and some of the tent campers had already taken the tape and wrapped it around their tents (as an aside - I can't believe they weren't evacuated/moved away from the scene. I really don't get it).

Our UPS friends and neighbors were back at work this morning - everything seemingly back to normal as I walked to work from the bus stop.


I'm going to shill for myself/for a good cause for a minute - tomorrow night is the 5th Anniversary of the Lit Camp Basement Series reading series at Sports Basement on Bryant (accessible by Muni via the 10, 22, 33, 27, 9, 9L, 12 and probably other lines I'm not remembering).

It is a fundraiser, too, to raise money for Lit Camp scholarships. The theme tomorrow night is Strange Travel Suggestions and I will be one of their readers. You should come, and introduce yourself if you do. It is a great cause and I think we'll have a lot of fun. Information can be found on their Facebook page, here.

Bus Report #980

On the 22 Fillmore this afternoon:
A woman requested the lift for her stroller, something which bothers me when the stroller is a light, foldable umbrella model. It is just so much faster to lift those on board, even if you need to ask for help.
She and her stroller get on the bus and I see that she isn't pushing a baby in it, but a ginger cat.
It is a covered animal stroller.
Yep.
She maneuvers into a seat near the front, opens the mesh cover on the stroller, and lifts out an (admittedly) very cute ginger cat. But still.

Later, waiting for the 38, a couple is lost, wandering in the Fillmore bus stop, asking everyone for directions. Several people shrug, or point across the street, or just shake their heads.

The couple stares at the map in the bus shelter, tracing the red bus lines up the map towards Marin.

I take off my headphones. "Are you trying to get somewhere?" I ask them.

They turn to me and hold up their phones. The husband says, "The 92, it's supposed to stop here but there's no sign for it."

Hmmm. "Yeah, it does sometimes stop here, hold on, let me check." I pull up Swiftly on my phone. No joy. But I'm sure the bus stops there.

"Are you going to Marin? I know you can catch that bus further up on Geary if not here."

"We're going here," the wife said, pointing at the bridge.

"Just to the bridge? Not to Sausalito or anything?"

Just to the bridge.

"Oh, no problem, then. Take the 38 to Park Presidio, switch to the 28, then you can see the bridge, take some pictures and then head back."

The husband nodded. "Ah. We've taken the 38 downtown but never in this direction. Thanks."

A 38L pulled up, my regular 38 right behind it. "You can take either one." I said.

Bus Report #979

Last night, the 22 smelled like pot, rose water, and Chock Full O' Nuts coffee. The three odors mixed and mingled until they became one very, very strong scent. Even with the windows open, there was no avoiding it.

A man sitting across from me passed his friend an unlit (but very pungent) joint. Then he pulled stacks of (stolen?) Macy's and Starbucks and Red Lobster gift cards from his bag and flipped through them. He had watches, too, several boxes of watches, and tried to sell the cards and the watches to everyone sitting nearby.

I declined to buy any of his merchandise.

On the 38, a woman with bright pink hair held a paper plate heavy with frosted cake. The cake was topped with strawberries, sprinkles, and dozens of Pocky sticks just... bunched up on the top, like fireplace kindling.

The cake looked, on one hand, absolutely delicious, and on the other hand, completely disgusting. She was on the phone and her voice was so annoying I wanted to grab the phone and toss it out the window. Even with the volume on my music turned all the way up, I could still hear her.
I wasn't alone. One of her seatmates wore big headphones but still held her palms pressed over her ears - to drown out the girl's voice, I assumed.

Thankfully she got out at Presidio.

Quiet reigned on the 38 for the rest of the commute.