Bus tourism: The little idea that could

This bus-tourism article from The New York Times Travel section just tickles me. I’m a big proponent of buses (yes, really), especially as a way for visitors to get a quick-and-dirty look at local life. The NYT story claims that by using one of their suggested $7.50-per-day city bus tours – an idea likely borne out of the dismal economy – you can see most of Manhattan in 3.5 hours of bus time, plus a few short walks and/or Subway rides.

Since it takes an hour, roughly, to get between any given Point A and B in San Francisco on Muni, bus tourism is a tragically laughable concept once you translate the idea for our fair city. For comparison’s sake, based on square-footage, Manhattan Island is a little less than one-half the size of San Francisco.

San Francisco has an identity crisis. This manifests itself in a number of ways, including copious, self-conscious references to it being a “world-class” city with “world-class” stuff. You can find such references in everything from Mayor Gavin Newsom’s 2008 inaugural address to his endorsement of a contemporary art museum in the Presidio to just about any time someone official talks about San Francisco International Airport. Sadly, the world-class city with world-class stuff doesn’t have world-class transportation, effectively disqualifying it from consideration to host the 2012 Olympic games.

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penis in public

Submitted by Muni rider plug1:

well, you said gross — so here comes gross.

a friend was over for drinks on sunday evening and mentioned that his girlfriend has experienced a tale of horror on the n judah this past saturday. she was sitting near the back in an aisle seat, listening to her ipod when she felt something tickling her cheek. moments later she realized there was a rock hard penis in her face.

a young man had pulled out his junk and was rubbing on her ear/face. startled, she jumped up and said “what the fuck!?!”. to her surprise none of the other passengers seemed to take issue. the young man continued to wave his wand around in the air near her seat. she shoved her way past him, then walked to the front of the bus, told the driver, and got off at the next stop — in shock.

a daily rider, she has not boarded muni since.

Very helpful, Muni

I happened to be at Powell Street station Thursday night trying to get an underground train toward Embarcadero. The hanging signs were not displaying anything, so I trekked over to see what the LCD said.

I was greeted with this:

<img src=”http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3278/2949708901_a57235c3e7.jpg” alt=”Muni display” />

If you can’t see it on the smaller image, look at <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/96304466@N00/2949708901/sizes/l/”>the larger one</a>. Yup, that’s a broken-image X. Thanks, guys.

— Beth W.

<i>Beth really wanted to see that red X travel slowly from West Portal to Powell so she could hop on and ride it to goodness-knows-where.</i>

no comprende?

As a word nerd, as well as a recent visitor to a handful of foreign countries, odd sentence construction is one of the biggest WTFs you can come across if you’re not entirely fluent in a language; even if you speak a fairly decent textbook version thereof.

But I mostly write this tale as a woman, horrified by a man’s conversational skills on a moving vehicle, where everyone can (unfortunately) hear every word of his awkward conversation with two girls from Switzerland.

It’s good to be home.

Let me start the tale of awkwardness by explaining the body language in this situation, for which I fully craned my neck to get a gander at. Two girls, maybe 20, but probably younger, were standing on a crowded bus, chatting among themselves. A man, who was probably around 30, was standing behind them, attempting over (and over) again to engage them in conversation. I think we all know that it’s a bad sign when the object of your conversational interest: 1) doesn’t ask you a single question back, or 2) only turns around to face you when you ask one of your many questions.

But off he went anyway. Here’s a sampling:

Guy: So what goes on in Switzerland?
Swiss girls: What?
Guy: What do you do there? Like, for fun?

Commentary: “What’s going on?” is a very oddly worded phrase on its own. Turn it around like the way he did, to people who aren’t fluent in English, and you get this.

There’s a reason foreign English is funny; we never say things like “The reason for this is because…” unless we’re directly translating from another language. So a phrase like “What’s going on?” definitely loses something in the translation.

Guy: So there are a lot of mountains and stuff in Switzerland?
Swiss girls: Um, yes. Many mountains.

Commentary: Clutching at straws then, aren’t we? This kind of question is always the low point, on whatever end of the conversation you’re on. I personally ask questions like this when I don’t like someone, but am forced to be in their company, or am horribly uncomfortable.

But he continues with the kicker!

Guy: So, how old are you girls? 15? 16? 17?
Swiss girl 1: What’s the saying? You don’t ask a woman her age?
Guy: Nah, that’s only for women in their 30s!

Commentary: Good answer from the girls, and probably a good indication that they spoke better English than they first let on. Also, you’re a creepy asshole if you look anywhere near the vicinity of 30 (or older) and ask such a question. You then earn more creepy points for denouncing the statement as something for women…in your own age group.

Everyone eventually got off the bus, leaving me to stew in their residual cloud of awkward.

Yeah, it’s good to be home.

Tara Ramroop has only been let down a handful of times by Muni in the week since she’s been back. Progress?

Fleeing Fleet Week

Okay, okay, yes, we went to Fleet Week. And by “go to Fleet Week,” I mean we grabbed some sandwiches at the pretty people’s Safeway and plopped our asses on Marina Green for free to watch a bunch of screaming planes do tricks. A friend had never experienced the glory, and being the nice people that we are, we chose to humor her.

Getting over to the north side of town from the Mission was actually a pleasant exercise. The 49-Van Ness zipped us right down to where we needed to be. The bus was neither crowded nor slow. We got there in about 20 minutes, I’d guess.

Getting back home was a different story altogether.

We waited things out a while at a friend’s house on Chestnut, then boarded a nearly capacity 49, only to stand there for what seemed like a eternity (seriously, something tells me, hours later, that that bus is still there). We got off at the next stop, after peering up Van Ness (to the south) and seeing nothing but stopped cars with their brake lights on.

So we walked. We walked from Greenwich to Market, passing at least three 49s and three 47s. We walked all the way to the heart of the Mission. God knows whatever became of any of those Van Ness buses.

Anyone else experience meltdown over the weekend with all the hullabaloo? Please share.

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