Muni Mind Reader: Haight-Bus Punker and ‘Service Dog’ 08.28.09
Photo by Flickr user Mat Honan
It’s summer. It’s hot. Muni Mind Reader took the week off last week. But never you fear — she’s back and in fine form this warm August Friday. For this installment, Tiffany (aka, Muni Mind Reader) checks in with that colorful character you sometimes see on the 6, 7, or 71. Any of the Haight Street lines, really. He or she is known by many names and aromas, but enough of this intro. Take it away, Mind Reader!
Hey, what are you all looking at? You’re all just a bunch of society-lovers, aren’t you? Oh I’ve seen this before. You look at my duct-taped pants, weather-beaten trench, and standard-issued Doc Martens, and think, “If only he’d shop at The Gap or Banana Republic, he’d be such a nice boy!”
Well, listen up SOCIETY, I refuse to conform to your capitalistic, material-obsessed, world. Lucky for you, I’m not going to try to sit next to any of y’all. Instead, I’ll just sit up front where I can spread out a little bit, have more space for this radio, trash bag filled with other trash bags, sleeping bag, tarp, and duffel bag. The last three items I just picked up from the army surplus store on Haight Street. Incidentally, it’s where I do all my shopping. These pants are really just second-hand army ACU pants. I added the duct tape myself to enhance durability, cred, and had absolutely nothing to do one Wednesday afternoon. If you’re going to be a middle-class, early-20s, homeless-by-choice punk in this city, freakin’ army surplus stores are the bomb.
This is my dog, Warrior. Come here War! We’ve been together a long time. I got her at the SPCA. Now, anyone who has tried to adopt a pet from an animal shelter can sympathize with me over the long-ass process. Originally, I lied and said I had a job, thinking the key to having a pet in this city is to prove you have daily responsibilities and income to provide for the health and well-being of my furry friend. But then they worried I’d be out of the house all the time. So then I fessed up. Hell no man, I don’t live in your conformist world. My job is to let passers-by know they are the enemy and my decision to live under a few bushes in Golden Gate Park is a passionate statement on what’s wrong with the world. That’s when everyone realized I’d be “home” all the time. She’s been really instrumental in helping me carry around all my belongings. That’s why she always gets free passage on Muni. Cuz she’s a SERVICE DOG! Haaa! Stupid society.
Nah, he ain’t got no muzzle. What the hell do you want me to do? Conform some of the time?
So I know you’re wondering why it is I don’t smell quite as bad as I usually do. Usually you can smell the potent blend of my urine, my dog’s urine, weed, BO, and compost before I even get on the bus. I saw you all look up horrified when you heard all the plastic I was carrying rustle. But then you thought, Well that’s weird, I don’t want to throw up in my mouth. FOOLED YOU! I had my monthly visit with the folks. STUPID PARENTS. Nah, I’m just kidding. I love ‘em, and even though it can be pretty embarrassing to be picked up by your parents in the Panhandle (especially when they show up in their vintage Mercedes-Benz) I think they’re proud of me. Yeah, we headed up to Sonoma for the weekend. I got to take a shower, wash my clothes. I gave Warrior a bath too. It’s real pretty up in Sonoma, have you ever been? YEAH YOU HAVE BECAUSE YOU ARE PART OF THE PROBLEM MY FRIEND!
All right, I’m ready to blow this joint. I promised my parents I’d at least fill out one college application today, though really, I’m just doing a 40 run for the kids at camp. Smell me later!
Photo Gallery: Inaccurate or Outdated Muni Signage 08.13.09
Found this amazingly neato photo set on Flickr the other day. It was shot and assembled by Octoferret, to whom we owe a humble thank you. In light of upcoming Muni lines slated for extinction, we feel this is a moving tribute to the routes that time has forgotten.
Chaos on the 6-Parnassus 08.10.09
Photo by Flickr user heather
This unnerving story came to the Muni Diaries inbox from Muni rider “The Default Attorney”:
I have lived in the city now for about 8 years. Last night, going home on the 6, I witnessed one of the more disturbing incidents I have seen on Muni to date.
A woman, holding her child, gets on the somewhat already crowded bus, followed by a man who appears to be the father of the child, though he looks much younger than the woman. As they walk toward the rear of the bus, she pushes past a young woman who is standing, holding a stroller, and trying to get out of the way. The woman, still holding her child, pushes past the other mother saying rather loudly, “Get out of my way, you dumb bitch.”
Then she walks by two Muni fare inspectors who are already on the bus.
Apparently her male companion is trying to calm her down. All I can then hear is, “Fuck you, don’t tell me to calm down, I’m not fucking tripping.”
Weekend Photo Diary: No Direction Home 06.05.09
Well, we’ve all renewed our ability to completely ignore weather forecasts, after rain was promised every freakin’ day this week, and delivered none. Nevertheless, we can’t be played off without referencing future skies, no matter how futile.
Not really sure what’s going on this weekend, other than Sunday Streets in the Mission. If you know of something fun, cool, vital, or pathetic, let us know in comments.
Otherwise, just enjoy yourselves these next coupla days.
xoxo,
Muni Diaries
May Post of the Month – No More Bunnies 06.01.09
After a day of some Interwebs hiccups on the site, we are finally back! We looked back at the most popular diaries you submitted in May, and the Post of the Month award goes to… No More Bunnies!
I really wish I’d been there to witness Laura’s story:
There was a man standing near the wheelchair guy loudly talking on his cell phone with someone who he later claimed was at his job, but I’m pretty sure I heard him address them as “Mom” at one point. I couldn’t figure out what he was referring to, but it involved complaining repeatedly about “cats and bunnies.” For about three minutes, it was “bunnies” this and “bunnies” that, until finally the wheelchair man became so irate that he literally screamed, “I DON’T GIVE A F*** ABOUT NO DAMN BUNNIES! SHUT THE HELL UP, MAN!”
Ah, this is exactly the kind of conversation that makes Muni awesome. I still want to know what was with the bunnies, though.
Got your own story to tell? Submit it to us. For June we will have a reader’s poll so you can vote for the Post of the Month. Power to the people!
Photo by Flickr user Benimoto.
Douche bag alert and regulation 05.26.09
My colleague Jeff and I were finishing up our drinks at 83 Proof around Midnight, last Thursday night-Friday morning – big shout out to Hazel and Mark, btw – after a hectic night of editin’, paginatin’ and copyeditin’ for the SF Examiner. While plotting our next move, Jeff suggested we go to the Toronado since we were going to the Lucky 13 – our regular Thursday night watering hole – the following night to drink with Muni Diaries’ own Jeff Hunt and Tara Ramroop, who are celebrating their recent engagement (Like it hasn’t been mentioned on Muni Diaries a hundred times already, but, I digress). So I says, “Since you want to go to the Toronado, I suggest we take the 6-Parnassus, cause it’ll drop us off right out front.” After some haggling and debate over the length of time the 6 will take versus the underground, Jeff acquiesced to my suggestion, and what a great decision that turned out to be.
With “trusty” nextbus on my cell phone, I saw that we had 5 minutes to catch one at Market and Battery streets. Five minutes turned into about 6 or 7, but the bus did come (thankfully) and we got on. I sat in the seat on the driver’s side that has that extra leg room, just behind the first row that faces forward. Jeff sat on the seat behind me, and at this time, we were the only passengers on the bus. As we head down Market, stop to stop, the usual mish-mash of folks slowly amble on, from the young man with the drum sticks and faux-hawk, to the late-shift restaurant workers getting off work, to the quiet, silent types with their headphones and glasses, to the crackhead who had a hard time getting his fare together who then sat behind the driver not far from the young man with drum sticks and proceeded to sing and talk to himself trying to make eye contact with everyone in the front of the bus. This caused young man with drum sticks and faux-hawk to move to the back of the bus, opposite the driver’s side, to the seats that face each other. He sat in the row facing the front of the bus. A couple stops later, wanna be alpha-male and overall-slick mother fucker douche bag gets on the bus.
“No more bunnies!” 05.01.09
Coming home Wednesday on the 6, it was a typical evening rush-hour crowd. By about 6th St, everyone was squished together in the aisles. Luckily, having gotten on at 2nd, I had a precious seat near the back door.
At about 9th St, the bus driver yells, “Wheelchair coming on, clear the wheelchair seats!” and I’m proud to report that those people dutifully cleared the way as the man in the wheelchair carefully rolled his way down the aisle. Things were looking good; the wheelchair guy was joking around with some other passengers about the difficulty of parallel parking his chair into the space on the bus and no one seemed miffed to have been forced to stand on an already crowded bus.
No eating, no drinking, no smoking 07.02.08
Now, I know that sometimes — most times I guess — our Muni stories have nothing to do with us, or choices we make. Usually we’re victims of circumstance. But sometimes, we make our own Muni stories. Before I go on, let me preface this with the fact that, rules are rules, and if some rules aren’t enforced by Muni or are just completely ignored by other Muni riders, then those situations where said rules are ignored or unenforced are just reasons to criticize Muni, am I right? Of course I am.
So, let’s get to the first two rules, first — no eating. Now, myself, I’m going to have to be pretty motherfucking hungry to even want to eat on Muni in the first place. That’s just me, I guess, because I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been subjected to nasty fast food aromas and the grease said food emanates throughout the tiny confines of your standard-issue Muni coach. Then, of course, there’s the sunflower-seed shells that coat the floor of the bus like so many expended ordnance on the battle field. Let’s not forget the other trash that is left behind that we have to kick under the seat in front of us just so we can be comfortable. OK, so, people eat on the bus, whether I like it or not, whether I do it or not, this happens, it’s against the rules, but I’ve got to live with it.
A fitting end to a shitty day 06.30.08
I was leaving the downtown area heading toward my apartment in the Lower Haight. This was some time ago so I don’t really remember where I was coming from, most likely I was on my way home from practicing with my old band. I was already in a bitchy mood, most likely for the amount of time I waited for a bus, but I also remember a general feeling of angst that comes over me from time to time that is usually a cumulative anger and/or depression, further compounded by waiting for a long time for Muni on a less than pleasant night. Finally, I remember, a 6-Parnassus picks me up – and perks me up. Of all lines I could get, this one would get me closest to home – one block away – and fast. Another plus – it wasn’t crowded. I get on and proceed toward the back of the bus; I certainly wouldn’t want to take a seat away from the elderly or a wheel-chair user. We proceed to the next stop, and just before I start to feel happy, I notice the loud, most likely high on crack woman board the bus. “Stay up front, stay up front,” I remember thinking, but no, to the back of the bus she comes, and she’s fired up, dancing, screaming and making a scene. This is no new situation to anyone who takes Muni, and I generally know how to deal with it – don’t make eye contact and ignore the behavior. Sometimes, if I were in a better mood, I might even have been entertained by the high woman, but not this night, I was in no mood for laughter. As she finally sits down I notice the smell, a very, very strong smell – of shit! No, ladies and gentlemen, this was no wafting fart that I couldn’t just hold my breath a bit and let pass, this was the straight up intense smell of a freshly pinched loaf, most likely nestled tightly between the crackhead’s ass and her blackened Levi’s. The smell consumed the back of the bus, you didn’t just smell it, you felt it. I was in a fog of poo, and as the smell hits, I look around – there were others in the back – and not many people seem to be noticing the smell I’m noticing. The crackhead’s sitting down but won’t shut up, and I wonder if she’s screaming to distract people from the smell. As we go another stop, I have to go to the front of the bus, old people be damned. There’s not much refuge there, but the smell is definitely less intense. Finally, others seem to smell it and an exodus toward the front begins, the crackhead’s screams intensify and I can take no more. Three blocks from my house I have to bail. As the 6 drives away, I see the people’s reaction on the back of the bus, heads in shirts, newspapers up against their faces, the looks of horror and disgust, the stampede toward the front of the bus. Never had the streets of San Francisco smelled so good. - Rob
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