Kendra, who works with people with high risk for HIV infection, has been haunted by a young girl she saw on the 9-San Bruno. Here’s her story.

I have lived in San Francisco for three years. I have spent a fair amount of time on all the Bay Area’s transit systems, especially Muni. Most of the stories I would come home with or show up to work with were, like most of the entries found here, on the humorous side. But the story I feel compelled to tell is the most difficult, and the least funny. In a single 20-minute ride on the 9-San Bruno, I was forced to face my own demons.

Ever since I moved to San Francisco, I’ve been working primarily with populations at “high-risk” for HIV infection. I moved here specifically to do that. I worked with sex workers, drug addicts, transgender people, the young, the old, the depressed, the maniacal, the apathetic, and the lonely. I worked with people just like me. I worked with people totally unlike me. I was good at this work, and I cared about people. At least, that was how I’d always imagined it.

For a 4-month period, I was working at SF General in the Urgent Care Clinic offering HIV testing and counseling to people in the waiting room there. I did this in the mornings, and had to commute downtown to my other job on 4th and Market at about 2 p.m. every day. I took the 9-San Bruno bus, every day, from SF General to 4th and Market.

One particular ride, when the bus was just as crowded as always, I got on and stood in the aisle near the front. In less than a minute, I was acutely aware of some of the people around me on the bus. Right behind me, a couple on some speedy drug talked very openly about their next score.

“We already hit him up last week, we should try Ronny.”

“How much you get from him last time?”

They picked and tapped and shuffled and chatted as speedsters do. Even though they were loud, much harder to ignore was a girl about my age sitting right in front of me, silent. Bandaged thoroughly at both wrists, one of which was still seeping blood into the bandage. She was hard to ignore because from the moment I stepped on the bus, she stared right into me. I had to look down at her to make eye contact and when I did, I immediately had to look away. Her eyes were literally filled with tears. And she just kept staring at me.

A middle-aged guy standing next to me had been a client of mine in the Urgent Care, and left there at the same time I did, apparently. He started talking to me, telling me about his struggles, his life story – why he thought he should take the HIV test, how he had sex with men sometimes but wasn’t “really gay, not like that.” How little money he made and how hard it was to get by, having some nights to sleep in shelters or on the street. Something about his proximity to me, and the public nature of this spontaneous counseling session, was making me extremely uncomfortable. The speedy couple even stopped talking to listen to what I was going to say to him. And then I noticed the other person standing beside me, who was holding a cane, and whose face was half eaten away by some unknown and unimaginable cause. Where there had once been an eye, there was no more, and the socket was so misshapen it looked like a gaping knife wound. The thought arrived in my head before I could be disgusted with myself: “How did I happen to get on the bus with half the psych ward and the lepers?” I chuckled to myself as I sometimes do on Muni, when I witness bizarre happenings – just another ride on the 9-San Bruno, I thought, smiling.

By this time, we were just arriving onto Market Street, and the bus gradually became less crowded as people got off and headed into SOMA or the TL. A guy got on the bus and started begging for money, and was totally ignored by everyone. Meanwhile, the girl with the wrist bandages was still staring, I could feel her eyes looking at me. The not-really-gay guy kept telling me his story, giving me ample excuse not to look down at her. Now the bus was getting close to my stop. The speedsters had gotten off, as had the man who appeared to have had flesh-eating bacteria devour his facial tissue. And now at each stop, a few yuppies got on. A guy in a suit, a hip girl with a rickshaw bag. And there was room for me to sit down, so I did. Right across from the wrist bandaged girl. Finally, the client telling me his story got off, thanking me for listening and waving bye.

At about 7th & Market, I started to have my epiphany, to draw the parallels. The bus had traversed the gritty parts of SOMA, had carried the city’s most marginalized, suffering, forgotten citizens. The very people I came here to help. I felt surrounded by “them.” And gradually, like so many layers of clothes I could toss off at will, they left me. The bus was nearing the ritzy, touristy 4th & Market stop where I was to exit, and all the original characters in my little play were gone but one. I felt comfortable surrounded by these yuppies who I privately hate. But I did not fear being on a bus with them, and would rather endure the loudest asshole talking into his bluetooth the whole ride than to have to look at that girls eyes again.

But I couldn’t help it. She was drawing me in, and as my stop approached, I had to look again, offer some kind of smile or something. And this time when I looked, tears were streaming down her face, yet she was still completely silent. Choking them back for a moment, she looked at me and mouthed the word, “Please.” And blinked, and the tears came down again. My mind was racing – What does she want from me?! What could I possibly help her with? Should I act like I didn’t see, or should I talk to her? This is my stop here, should I tell her to get off and walk with me? Find out why she’s crying?

And then the bus stopped and I stumbled out the back door in my haste. It took me a second, standing there, to catch my breath. I was panting. The moments after that girl had looked at me, I must have been holding my breath – for I don’t know how long. I felt dizzy and overcome with heaviness, like the pain of San Francisco had just been infused into my chest for 20 minutes.

And then there I was, naïve little white girl on the corner of 4th & Market, walking into my office building. Not, for once, feeling that little bit of smug joy knowing that I had spent my morning “helping people.” Feeling, rather, like I might throw up. Bending over slightly just 10 yards from the door to my building, I paused and searched the eyes of passers-by, for something, for anything – for an inkling of understanding of the pain and tragedy this city bears every day. But nobody looked at me. Unlike the girl on the bus, all I had to do was stand up, take a few steps, and disappear into the gleaming safety of those marble floors, and leave it all behind – in the streets and on the buses where nobody cares. Nobody. Apparently, not even me.

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An assault on the 9-San Bruno on Saturday evening sent the driver to the hospital, CBS5 Crime Watch reports. According to the CBS5  report:

Muni officials said a number 9 San Bruno bus driver was pulled off his bus and attacked.

It happened around 5 p.m. near the intersection of San Bruno Avenue and Somerset Street.

The driver was not seriously hurt, but was sent to the hospital for treatment of a minor cut.

Surveillance video isn’t available yet. The driver was pulled off the bus? The attack comes after SFPD announced new anti-crime efforts on Muni.

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Here we are, another Friday afternoon. That can mean only one thing: Time to revisit some of the more important goings-on of the week that ends in three, two, one …

• We never did hear a follow-up, so we assume the woman hit by a 9-San Bruno on Tuesday is okay. She was sent to the hospital where she was treated and put in critical condition. Video of the incident was released a few days later.
• On the lighter side of things, after some frivolous twitter-twatter (heehee), SFist went public with a contest to get a new slogan for Muni. If you haven’t weighed in yet, now’s your chance.
• We did our best to get a report out on this week’s MTA townhall meetings to discuss upcoming service cuts and fare hikes. The next day, Streetsblog SF brought up a great point many people seemingly forgot about: bus stop consolidation.
• Thursday evening’s commute on Muni Metro got interesting when the pantograph on an L-Taraval busted way out at 36th and Taraval, knocking over the dominoes that crippled the entire Metro system. It wudn’t purty.
• MTA announced that it is rescheduling its next board meeting (to consider the latest budget proposal) from Feb. 16 to Feb. 26. Mark that date, and come let the board know how you feel the service cuts and fare hikes will affect you.

Okay, take a deep breath, let the magic take over and whisk you away to a more Zen-like weekend. See you Monday er, Tuesday. Which reminds us: Muni will run on a Saturday schedule on Monday, aka, tall, dead white guys’ day.

Photo by tbridge

Photo by brad.coy

Photo by Nick.Fisher

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Update (4:55 p.m.) From MTA:

Final Update

As of 4:17 p.m., the scene below has cleared and all Muni buses have returned to their regular routes.

According to San Francisco General Hospital, the pedestrian is in critical condition.

Per normal procedure, the Muni Operator (hired in 2000) involved in the accident has been placed on non-driving status and will be tested for drugs and alcohol.

The investigation by the San Francisco Police Department and the SFMTA is ongoing.

Original post: This just received from MTA:

Muni Service Alert

As of 1:41 p.m., an accident between an outbound (southbound) 9 San Bruno Muni bus and a pedestrian on San Bruno Avenue at Burrows Street is causing the following Muni buses to be re-routed around the accident scene:

9 San Bruno
9L San Bruno Limited
8X Bayshore Express
8AX Bayshore Express

The injuries to the female pedestrian are described as life-threatening by the San Francisco Fire Department.

The San Francisco Police Department and the SFMTA are investigating the accident.

We’ll get updates in here as soon as we receive them.

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Rightfully pissed-off rider Mel sends the following gripe:

This morning found me and my husband and one other guy sprinting a long city block to make it to the #9. We got to the doors in time, the dude in front of us who was sprinting gets on the bus, I raise my foot to get on…and the DOORS SLAMMED RIGHT IN MY FACE! The driver made EYE CONTACT with me and still sped off! WTF?

Seriously, it’s one of the worst lines in the city. Drivers seem to make a game of how far they can pitch us around the bus with rapid acceleration and braking and they’re stone cold deaf when fights break out.

I’m tired of paying more for less. Down with Muni and their crappy rude drivers.

My last ride on the dearly departed 26-Valencia involved a drunken sprint caddy-corner to catch the bus. The doors closed just as I drunkenly touched them from outside. The driver saw this, and opened the doors back up.

I only relay this story to suggest that, as often as Mel’s story occurs, perhaps, there’s the other side of the coin. Or maybe the doors open once for every 16.3 times they slam in your face. Either way, the drivers almost always see this happen. Shame on those who, unlike my lucky 26 driver that night, leave potential riders high and dry. Hmph!

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After dinner at Olivo’s in the Tenderloin I walked down to Van Ness and Market to catch a bus to Potrero Hill.

At Market and Van Ness I saw an underground where I could catch the N Judah which crossed the 22 Fillmore line at Church. I knew this was not the quickest way, but I know it would get me home.

I got to the turnstiles and there was a guy blocking the way as he was talking to the attendant in the glass booth. A woman who wanted through said, rather disgustedly “Are going in or coming out?” The guy said, “The trains aren’t running and I’m trying find out what’s wrong. But, you can come in.” And he stepped aside with a flourish.

Now it was my turn, I used my FastPass and then asked the attendant if the N was running. She said “Yes, but the are running slow. But they are running”. Ok. Down to the platform.

The above photo was what I saw when I got to the platform stairway. Everyone was milling round, some resignedly others were more agitated. Some were looking at there watches and mumbling. This was not a good sign.

I went down to the platform and then realized just how bad it was. There was not one sound to be heard in any direction. It was very eery. And to me it meant there was absolutely no movement in the tunnels. You can here the trains for miles down here and now it was absolute quiet. Time to leave.

I stopped on my way out and asked the attendant what surface transport I could take which would cross the 22 line going to Potrero hill. She thought for a moment and said, “Take the number 9 and get off at Potrero and 16th.” This intersection I knew well by now and so I thought I was on my way. But, when I got up to Market Street I could see no sign anywhere for a “9″ Bus stop. I walked a complete circle around the busy intersection and could see nothing.

Now what!? I went back down into the station using the stairs on the other side of the street. Again, I asked the attendant (a different one) the same question. She gave me the same answer. But this time another MUNI worker told me the stop was up at the Bank of America. He said “When you get to the top of the escalator go right to the stop for the 9 San Bruno”. Ok, now we are getting some where.

I did as instructed, and , guess what! I was right back where I started. Oh, brother… No sign of the 9 bus stop.

I noticed some people on the street car platform and decided to take a chance. I asked one of the ladies standing there where I could catch the number 9 and then the 22 and she said “On the other side of the Bank of America. It comes down Market and turns there.” Ah ha!

I crossed the intersection again and walked past the escalator I had come out of and it was then I realized what had happened. The previous instructions to “go right” should have been ” go straight to the first street, then go right. So, there I finally was, at the stop for the 9 San Bruno.

I had been waiting for about 5 minutes when I was surprised to see the woman from platform turn the corner and walk straight towards me. She came up to me and said “Oh, I see you found it. I just realized I didn’t ask you what direction you wanted to go on the 22. I said “To Potrero Hill”. And she said “You’re Ok then”. I thanked her sincerely for coming to check on me and I was quite amazed she did it. She could easily have missed her bus.

Now, to make a long story even longer. I boarded the San Bruno and confirmed where I needed to go with the driver. He said he would call out the stop when we got to. Groovy. I might get home yet. I sat down and we just sat there. The driver was having some king of long conversation with another MUNI employee. Finally she got off and bus driver said: “Sorry folks, Supervisor.”

The driver yakked amiably with several of the passengers and then called out my stop for me. I waited about 5 minutes and boarded the 22 behind several people. When we all boarded the driver stayed put, and looked around at one of the passengers and said “Is that wadded up piece of paper you showed me actually a valid transfer?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. The older gentleman he was talking two tottered up to the front of the bus mumbling “It should be valid…” He showed it to the driver who dismissed him with a wave of his hand. What a jerk.

Next stop – same thing. Someone got on and I guess he didn’t stick his transfer in the drivers face so the drive stayed put and said “I didn’t see that transfer”. The guy ignored him – ear buds. The driver then got half way out of his seat and waved his arms and said the same thing. Guess this time the guy heard him. Satisfied, he finally pulled out of the bus stop. Brother…

Finally we got to my stop. It was nearly ten o’clock. I went upstairs and it was lights out in short order. Interesting day.

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Sure, it is tempting to put one’s feet on the seat facing one’s own, but how does this guy justify taking up all these seats in a row on a rather full 9? And shouldn’t one, at the very least, put one’s feet down when somebody looks longingly at the shoe rest?

Don’t commit this Muni faux pas, especially on a rainy gross day like today! And don’t forget to send us your tales on the bus.

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This morning I saw two uniformed police officers on my line (49-Van Ness) for the first time. It made me wonder if the sting operation as reported by SFGate will be taking place in the near future in the Mission. The Chronicle reported that the sting operation earlier this week happened at the Ingleside station.

According to Rachel Gordon via the City Insider blog:

A posse of San Francisco police officers worked a special undercover operation on three Muni bus lines earlier this week and by the end of it had issued 22 citations for such minor offenses as back-door boarding, littering at a bus stop, alcohol and tobacco possession by minors and on-board eating.

…

The 5 1/2-hour crackdown involved six officers, one sergeant and one lieutenant and targeted three lines: the 14-Mission, the 49-Van Ness/Mission and the 9x-San Bruno Express. The operation came in the wake of the vicious stabbing of an 11-year-old boy on a No. 49 bus Sept. 1.

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This actually happened in 2001, but this I just heard about this site today so….

New years eve 2001/2002, I decided to go to one of those giant raves they used to have at the Cow Palace. I lived downtown, so took the 9 out to the Cow Palace. The trip there and the party were uneventful, but ride home was surreal.

A few stops down the line a guy gets on and sits down near me. He was a big ripped dude, probably 6’6″ 250lbs. He was wearing what looked like a prisoner jumpsuit, and had a cast on his arm. He was sweating like crazy and his eyes were bugging out of his skull.

He was sitting across from me near the back of the bus. He kept twitching and muttering under his breath, standing up then sitting right back down. The only word i could make out was “snakes”. Before long he started asking people if they have seen the snakes on the bus. Of course, nobody had, and this just starts to agitate him.

Three stops in a row he screamed, jumped up and ran out the back door, around the bus, and back in the front door, and sat back down. For some reason I was sitting kind of crosslegged, with my legs up off the ground. He jumped up and started yelling right in my face, asking if there are snakes. “If there are no snakes, why are you keeping your feet off the ground?!” After maybe a minute of this, he gets even closer and tells me that if I lied, and there ARE snakes on the bus, he is gonna KILL ME.

As soon as he stopped focusing on me I went up and sat behind the driver. At the next stop, I heard him screaming and freaking out again. He ran off the bus, this time just bolting out into the darkness and not getting back on.

I wonder if the snakes finally found him.

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Happy 1906 anniversary people, as you all know, people gathered at 3rd and Market remembering those who died. Eventually the crowd went onto Church and 20th to spraypaint the gold hydrant. But, I’m pretty sure most of you guys got lucky — the Owl was working for you and you guys got on a fake cable car and headed there with ease — mine was different.

So, anyway, I started out at Van Ness and Jackson, heading on the 90-Owl hoping to time-transfer with the 91-Owl at Van Ness and Chestnut. Unfortunately, as I got to Van Ness and Chestnut I saw the NextMuni display and it said “91-Owl: 22 minutes & 37 minutes.” So I ran as fast as I could to catch the 90-Owl, hoping to catch the 38. Unfortunately, some guys got on at Union and tried to get a free ride. “I gave you a free ride yesterday,” the driver said, but he still got on and asked people around for a dollar. Nobody gave him one, so he began this long talk with the driver which lasted three minutes or so, and the bus was heading slowly up Van Ness. The bus let the guys off at Pine, and continued slowly.

Around Geary Street, that’s where I saw the 38 go by. By then I thought I was going to be late, but seeing that I missed the 38, I had no other choice, as I was desperate, to get off, and run through the Tenderloin on O’Farrell. Not fun.

I finally made it around 5 minutes before the bagpipe went off, playing “Amazing Grace.” I’ll have video of that later. After that, the sirens started going off, symbolizing the quick and efficient response the firefighters were heading to rescue people affected by the earthquake.

Around 5:20-ish, we were told to head to Dolores Park. I asked around, figuring out whether we would be riding the fake cable car instead of getting there ourselves. And the worst part is, the Metro wasn’t really open yet.

So I waited for any bus that went up around there, and here came a K-Owl. We all got on, except for this lady who asked how to get to 20th and Church. The operator then replied, “You need to…get on the 9-San Bruno.” The lady tried to reason, then the operator said, “9-SAN BRUNO,” and closed the doors on her. I think the door almost got her head.

There was another thing, on the K-Owl, when someone was trying to get on at 9th and Market, this guy asked the driver how to get to Mission Dolores. She said, “I don’t go on Dolores. I go straight up to Castro.” He replied,”So how do I get up there?” She said, “I told you three times already, and I’m not going to tell you again because you are holding me up, I said I don’t go to Dolores, I go straight up to Castro.” The passenger then told her whether she stopped at Dolores, then she realized, “Oh, yeah, yeah.”

But, instead of letting him off at Dolores, she let him off at Church.

I don’t have her driver number because she ripped it off, and as I tried to get a picture of her, she covered herself. After that ordeal, she told me, “I ain’t rude, I’ll be the nicest person you’ll ever meet.” Yeah, right. Then how come you were all like “9-SAN BRUNO!” and shut the door on her? “That’s what you wanted to hear, you see, there’s a war going on, you don’t understand that.” Well…yeah…kinda…at least she wasn’t like…Cynthia Thompson?

Anyway, since I heard there was a parade of firetrucks coming, I decided to hang around Church and 14th for a little while, until I saw a bunch of firetrucks heading down Dolores. I started running again, hoping to catch up with the firefighters, until I realized I couldn’t catch up. I ran anyway.

I’ll have photos and multimedia up later.

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