Bus Report #1067

 More like an on foot report, but still.

I went out today to run errands and get a haircut. Afterwards I walked over to visit E., and swap some marmalade for her excellent homemade cookies.

As I walked up to her building I saw Olga, dear sweet Olga, sitting out on her balcony, adjacent to E's apartment.

I smiled beneath my mask and waved up to them both.

After a visit with E. I called up to Olga, in my terrible Russian, and waved some more. She grinned and waved back. It was all I needed, really. Just knowing that she was okay was enough for me.

I turned to leave. A man with shoulder-length hair and blue track outfit stood a few feet away. He waved at me and said, "Hello!"

I smiled back, waved back. I knew him - but I couldn't place him.

He laughed, his eyes crinkling a little. "You don't know me?" I'd know that accent anywhere.  It was Alain, the Frenchman! 

I chuckled as he took his mask off for a moment to show me his wide grin. 

"Of course I know you!" I laughed. "How are you?"

"Ah, I do not take the 33 anymore," he said, shrugging. 

"I haven't either," I said. "Come with me," I gestured for him to follow me. I took him back to E. and Olga's building, the two of them were still chatting across balconies.

"It's our friend, our Russian friend," I said, and he and I both waved up to Olga. 

She waved back, and then Alain and I said goodbye and parted ways.

It was wonderful to see the both of them, two of my 33 bus crew. 

I walked home, an extra spring in my step.

Bus Report #1066

 After work I stopped at the grocery store with a plan to walk the rest of the way home.

Best intentions and all that - I made it most of the way back before the wind and my heavy bags got the best of me. 

I caught the 38 on a quiet corner of Geary, sat a respectful distance from an older woman watching videos on her phone, a student in a colorful mask, and a man who looked as though he'd been nodding off for a while. 

He was slumped in his seat, two backpacks at his feet, a thick, dog-eared, mass-market paperback entitled Law and Order half falling from his swollen hands. Skin sunburned red. Faded tattoos on both arms down to his knuckles.

The bus stopped short at the next light, startling the man awake, sort of. His movements were slow - as though he was underwater. He held the book in one hand and started patting his pockets with the other. 

Two syringes rolled onto the floor. He picked them back up and pocketed them again. 

As we pulled in to the 6th Avenue stop the man lurched to his feet, spilling the contents of his pockets onto the floor again. He scooped everything up - syringes, coins, small pillbox, orange needle cap - and then grabbed his bags and got out the bus. On the sidewalk he knelt and took everything out of his pockets again. 

A few minutes later, I got out at my stop and walked the rest of the way home.

Bus Report #1065

372 days since my last bus ride, I got on the 38 Geary outbound towards the V.A. Hospital today.

It is an understatement to say it has been a long year. A very, very long year. 

I've been on foot, mostly, or in cars - getting motion sick every time. I never get motion sick on Muni. 

I've spent a lot of time this year slowly sipping Cokes, trying to regain my equilibrium after a car ride. At the office, at home.

I had to go to the library and since my local branch three blocks away is still closed, the nearest one is 25 blocks away, uphill. And I don't always want to walk, to be honest. There are some desolate blocks of Geary between my apartment and the library, and they've only grown more windswept, empty, and quiet during the pandemic.

I unzipped the side pocket on my bag, where I keep my Clipper card, reaching in for the card so I could check the cash balance - I haven't opened that pocket or bought a monthly pass since March 2020. The receipt, kept as proof, was still tucked behind the card in my card holder. 

I called Clipper and was happy to hear I still had $14 on the card. Leftover from my last BART ride to Oakland.

Checked Next Bus, two buses en route in the next fifteen minutes. Jacket on. Books tucked into totebag. Triple-layer face mask on. Walked out to the bus stop as though I did it every day. As though it was still normal.

The bus arrived and I got on, chose an empty seat near the back. 

Friends, can I tell you how happy I was to be on the bus? How I looked around at the handful of other passengers, all of us masked and silent, and I almost cried? 

My city, our city, looks better from the height of the bus than it does on foot. I've walked that 25 blocks a dozen times since that library branch reopened but seeing it from the bus, it just... filled me with joy. Truly.

The woman sitting in the rightmost seat in the back got out by the burger place. The man who had been in the leftmost seat wore a camo-patterned mask while he studied a sheaf of papers he took from a manila envelope. He got out by the discount grocery store. 

I've been trying to avoid making eye contact with people lately, but I caught his eyes just before he hopped out. Dark brown under bushy eyebrows.

I'm rusty, could not remember how many stops until my own. Pulled the signal cord just in time, and got out onto a sun-drenched block of Geary. 

I could've danced to the library - it felt so good to be taking Muni again. 

On my way back from the library a few minutes later, I took the bus for a few blocks just to be on it, sat in the back, enjoying the quiet and the familiarity, the wheeze of the hydraulics, reading the signage about mask requirements and how to properly sit distanced from each other on the bus.

I got out at 28th, calling a loud 'thank you' to my driver.

I walked the rest of the way home, plotting my next rides, feeling the 'Miss Rachel's Neighborhood' vibe coming back.

It's not all blue skies yet, but they're coming back, friends. 

And I am looking forward to bringing you along with me.

(extra thanks for the encouragement to get back on the bus from Michael and C.)