Photo by checkerboard_secrets
A couple of Saturdays ago, I happily boarded BART at 24th and Mission to head downtown for some serious shopping. I was flying solo, the sun was shining, Anthropologie was calling my name…I was happy.
I stepped onto BART, surveyed the seat situation, and chose a row right in front of the door between the cars. I moved to the inside seat, trying to be a considerate BART rider.
At 16th and Mission a shabbily dressed man boarded the car and plopped down right next to me with force, taking up more than his allotted seat. I edged closer to the wall. He rummaged through his bevy of plastic bags until he found what he was searching for: an ancient-looking, jumbo-size can of Vienna Sausages. With a pop that lid was off, and sausage juice began to fly–some towards me even! I moved as far away as I could from this man as he went to town on his snack. He methodically whipped out each sausage, one-by-one, shaking the excess juice around the car and licking his fingers.
I really didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I’ve smelled worse and seen worse…but this was the first (and hopefully only) time that cold Vienna Sausage juice had been flung in my direction.
This dude was almost done with his snack when we pulled into Powell and I politely said “Excuse me” so I could get past him. He was visibly irritated to have his dinner interrupted in such a way. I was visibly irritated to have been showered with drops of processed meat juice.
Back out in the sunshine, I shook it off (no pun intended) and proceeded to enjoy my shopping trip. No point in crying over spilled sausage juice, right?