A Brief Reenactment of Speed on Muni
Muni rider Beau thought everything was going well on the train, until he noticed that the driver hadn’t made a stop for a good couple of blocks. Then panic set in…
I boarded the second car of a Metro train this morning at Castro and settled into my favorite perch next to the door – the place where folks are least likely to bump into you after Church Street. Things were going smoothly. People smelled good, and were giving each other the requisite 12 inches of space that keeps things from getting awkward (perhaps the reason why I couldn’t smell any dubious odors).
Since Muni loves to play practical jokes during a weekday rush hour, I thought I’d just laugh along when the doors didn’t open at Van Ness. Hah! What a joker! Good ole Breda, always up for a few chuckles in the morning.
But then… Civic Center, Powell, Montgomery…
It was really when the train started pulling out of Powell and the doors still weren’t opening that I began to worry: someone, anyone, tell the conductor that they have the wrong city for a reenactment of ‘Speed.’
There is no one on this train that can hold a match to Sandra Bullock in 1994.
I include myself in that assessment.
So when the emergency intercom is unresponsive for three stops, what’s a Muni passenger to do? S/he bangs on the window and tries to get the attention of fellow passengers through pantomime. My savior wore headphones, Wayfarer sunglasses, and a look of confusion when I tried to explain that we were all trapped in an Italian-made transit sausage and I wasn’t just a totally impatient nutcase.
Now. In all seriousness. Two things disturb me about this.
1. The conductor didn’t seem to notice that no one got off a train for nearly four stops.
2. The emergency intercoms were totally non-responsive for over, I’d hazard to say, five minutes.
That’s really enough time for a lot of things to happen. In any case, thank you sexy man who saved us all. You’re the best.
This wouldn’t be very funny on a morning commuter train.
And mmmm. Italian sausage.