Bus Report #1019

Yesterday morning the sky was charcoal grey and black, such subtle gradations I could not stop looking up as I walked to the bus. My boots could use some love. I could feel the heels flop just a bit as I walked. I guess it's time to take them in for resole/reheeling.

I got there earlier than usual, waited with a kid who kept kicking his skateboard and a man who looks like Rich from the show Community, very... preppy and pretty and clean. Too clean. He has a habit of standing too close to me, less than an arm's length, and usually right behind me. It is unnerving and I always end up having to move.

Men of San Francisco, hear my plea: while waiting in a bus stop (from a tiny shelter to a big one that takes up most of a block), find a spot to stand that is not right behind or right beside the only other person waiting there, especially if she doesn't see or hear you approach and it is dark out.
Odds are good you aren't about to commit a crime but we don't know that and there's no one else around.

Today I caught the earlier bus again. Humorless Russian woman who is always facetiming her son, the woman with the noxious garlic tea, and the Axe body spray guy were all present and accounted for.

I got on and immediately opened a bunch of windows. It wasn't enough and now I can still smell that bad, bad cologne on my jacket.

Near the office, stopped into Philz where a man ordered a Mint Mojito coffee... without the mint.
I wanted to intervene, but I try not to involve myself with the unstable, so I didn't. A regular coffee would have sufficed, and been cheaper for him. Ah well.

Bus Report #1018

Yesterday morning the bus was late for the second day in a row (no Tasha, but Annie was our friendly driver twice!), but at least my sweet, elderly Russian friend was also waiting for the "three three," as she calls it.

We always try to talk to each other, now that I call out my Russian good morning and she replies in English. But it is hard. I've never wanted to learn Russian or French before but I do now, just so I can chat with her and make her laugh.

I stood near her as she sat on the bench by the pizza place. I think she forgets sometimes, about the language differences, because she started speaking in Russian. I just shook my head and apologized for not understanding.

"You grandparents Russia?" she asked. I'd mentioned before that my great-great grandparents were Russian - or at least from that part of the world, depending on where borders were from year to year.

"Yes," I said. For simplicity's sake.

We stumbled along as we do. Where was the bus? It was late. How were here knees? Not so good.

Finally, the bus was in sight. We stood up and walked to the curb. She pressed her hand against her chest. "Olga," she said. "And you?"

I smiled. "Rachel," I told her. "Nice to meet you, Olga."

"Rachel," she replied, sounding it out in her pretty accent. "Rachel."

She stood in the front while I made my way to a seat in the back. As she got out at the next stop, she waved and I waved back.


*Well, we will call her Olga, because I like that name, but it is really something else equally as lovely.