Bus Report #1007
It's the time of year when Muni just sucks the life out of me.
Slow commutes. Missing runs.
How is it that back to school time just makes everything crazier? School was only out for a little over 2 months, wasn't it? Surely people haven't really forgotten how to take a bus?
But they have.
A man standing in the doorway with a rolled up futon.
Kid on his phone, refusing to acknowledge the woman with the newborn baby in a sling on her chest, who could use the seat more than he could.
And new folks with huge backpacks, and pushy women who work somewhere near me, who, even if I have my foot on the step to get on the bus try to slide in before me. Insanity, really.
Monday I sit in the only open seat, next to an enormous man who takes up a good half of my seat.
The rest of the ride, I get hit in the back and shoulder by everyone getting on or off, and by backpacks, swinging purses, and a pair of hard hats.
But, still.
Friendly and professional drivers. Regulars with a sense of humor. Beautiful people of all stripes. Sweet teens with new jeans and fresh haircuts. The three construction guys who didn't know which bus to take last night to get to BART, with their bashful smiles as I helped them out.
Annie yesterday, her last day as my morning driver, unless I'm running late, of course.
"I'll be on the next run," she said. "So when you're late, I'll see you."
I gave her a coffee card and thanked her, said I'd see her around.
The mom with the middle school son and the beautiful, autistic little boy, the three of them back on the 33 in the mornings. Mom and older son smile and say good morning. The little guy just stares, his gorgeous big brown eyes see right through me.
Slow commutes. Missing runs.
How is it that back to school time just makes everything crazier? School was only out for a little over 2 months, wasn't it? Surely people haven't really forgotten how to take a bus?
But they have.
A man standing in the doorway with a rolled up futon.
Kid on his phone, refusing to acknowledge the woman with the newborn baby in a sling on her chest, who could use the seat more than he could.
And new folks with huge backpacks, and pushy women who work somewhere near me, who, even if I have my foot on the step to get on the bus try to slide in before me. Insanity, really.
Monday I sit in the only open seat, next to an enormous man who takes up a good half of my seat.
The rest of the ride, I get hit in the back and shoulder by everyone getting on or off, and by backpacks, swinging purses, and a pair of hard hats.
But, still.
Friendly and professional drivers. Regulars with a sense of humor. Beautiful people of all stripes. Sweet teens with new jeans and fresh haircuts. The three construction guys who didn't know which bus to take last night to get to BART, with their bashful smiles as I helped them out.
Annie yesterday, her last day as my morning driver, unless I'm running late, of course.
"I'll be on the next run," she said. "So when you're late, I'll see you."
I gave her a coffee card and thanked her, said I'd see her around.
The mom with the middle school son and the beautiful, autistic little boy, the three of them back on the 33 in the mornings. Mom and older son smile and say good morning. The little guy just stares, his gorgeous big brown eyes see right through me.
posted by Rachel at 10:18 AM
1 Comments:
Wow, now that you've resumed Fog City Notes, you seem to be on a fluent roll. Really good writing.
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