Why I Will Never Ride the 27 Bryant Again (or at least for a while)

So I am boarding the 27 Bryant bus at Union Square heading home about 20 minutes ago. I should have learned my lesson after the incident of a crack head spit fight contest on that bus while my childhood friend was in town. But hey, that was an isolated incident, right?

Back to the story.  This homeless guy gets on the bus and sits down and starts eating some foul smelling Chinese food. I mean, this stuff smelled like it should have been refrigerated three days ago and discarded two days ago. So he is slopping this stuff down when an older lady asked the homeless man for a seat stating, ” The bus is full and your bag is in the seat next to you. Do you mind giving up the seat you bag is in?”

He states, ” Sure, if you want but I have killer lice that I can’t get rid of.”

Everyone on the bus began to simultaneously itch. The elder woman naturally decided to stand. As we travel he is slopping down this stuff and everyone is turning green. He finishes and then starts asking everyone on the bus if they have a bottle of water because he’s damn thirsty. Everyone is like, “No.”

The elder lady then says, “You know, I am sure you can get some water if you get off the bus.”

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Twirlwind on the 21

From the Muni Diaries submissions inbox:

I used to ride the 5-Fulton every morning and afternoon to and from work. I’d hop on the bus either at Clayton or Masonic, hang on for dear life, and thirty minutes later, arrive (slightly windblown and disheveled) at either my fantastic place of employment or within a half-block of my abode. From June through early August, San Francisco Ballet’s summer school students take the 5 to and from USF. The good thing is these students are very well behaved. They keep an eye out for the elderly and parents with young children, move their large dance bags filled with pointe shoes, iPods, and breakfast (bagels and bananas), stay mostly quiet in the early mornings, and travel in small groups.

And I stress this last part because a few years ago, two new dance summer programs started housing their students at USF, and they traveled in packs. And by packs, I mean 30+ students at a time, on their cell phones constantly, and heaving their bags to and fro like boulders. These new kids made riding Muni during rush hour a living nightmare. And it’s not just the sheer mass of them now 60 dance students at a bus stop is just crazy in and of itself… But that combined with the attitude of the newbies is a lot to handle at 8AM.

So what’s an intelligent, city-minded girl to do? Switch bus lines, right? Oh, wrong. Two years ago, I switched to the 21-Hayes bus line. It’s an extra few blocks walk south from the Fulton line. It’s a quieter, more local bus line. Neighbors are friendly, most people are pleasant, and the drivers, if they see a regular hobbling in three inch heels and frantically waving her bus pass while dragging her gym bag behind her, will hold the bus and say, “It’s good to see you!” as she climbs aboard. Who can’t heart the 21-line? Well, right now, me!

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Public-Service Reminder: Always Practice Safe Sex

Unused (?) condom on the 47

Unused (?) condom on the 47

That’s right, folks. Mere inches from my brand-new haircut.

The 47 and 49 (both Van Ness lines, for those of you following along at home) really need to fight it out for the “And I thought I had seen it all…” crown. I personally go back and forth on the question of which I’d rather be on, though yesterday, I would have gladly eaten my lunch off a 49 (ok, ew, not really) considering what I was faced with on this 47.

First, a harmless man singing/yelling to the songs in his head and smelling 10 times worse than a portable toilet got on and sat in the back. Fine. It’s a freakin’ 47, after all. But that resulted in at least 10 people getting up and cramming themselves around the middle of the bus, since no one wanted to be back there with him. This results in a briefcase in my ass, an iPhone in my side, and a front-row seat to the freakishly large condom hanging by the back door.

Condom-leaver: next time, maybe don’t go with the magnums unless you’re absolutely sure you can fit in them, all right?

I Dream of Muni: Geary Rail Line, and Sutro Witches

Lennies attack the border between San Francisco's Central and Outer Richmond!

Beth W. sent this to us via email, all about a rad dream she had the other night. Ah, we can still dream, can’t we?

I dreamed Friday night that there was another LRV Muni line. Its tracks ran along Geary all the way to the cliffs above Ocean Beach, and stopped at the very edge of the cliffs. Instead of having a letter for its line name it had a number (4, which currently belongs to Sutter). I found out about it because I was down on the beach talking to some women who claimed to be witches who did magic in the caves underneath the cliffs. They said some huge disaster had happened years ago, making the line inoperable. I was really excited to learn about it — somehow I had never noticed the tracks on the roadway before.

After talking to these women, I climbed up to the clifftop and, sure enough, saw the tracks. But then a train came along, even though apparently the line hadn’t operated in years. Of course I climbed on board! But the train cars weren’t the normal ones — they were rounded and dark red on the exterior, and had the tops cut off, kind of like those open-air tour buses. I rode all the way downtown. It was full of passengers, all of whom seemed excited to ride the new line.

I love it when I dream about things in SF that don’t exist. Has anyone else had a crazy Muni dream?

Send us your dreams, fantasies, and real-life experiences on Muni!

Photo by Flickr user 2composers

The Chicken on the Bus Goes…


Photo by Flickr user chudo.sveta

From the Muni Diaries submission inbox:

So this isn’t strictly a Muni related incident but it’s tangentially related to the fuss about the alleged story about Asian woman killing a live chicken before boarding a bus in Chinatown.

A few weeks ago I was visiting my friend who is working for the Peace Corps in Honduras. We were in the capital, Tegucigalpa, trying to catch a bus out to a town near her village. When the bus finally rolled by, it was nearly full but we got the last two seats waaaaay in the back of the bus. There was a family of three sitting in the two seats next to ours– a mom, a dad, and a young girl on his lap.

After settling in for the three-hour ride, I started watching the family. I don’t understand much Spanish, but I could get enough that they were worried about something. They had a small brown bag, maybe the size that you would put a sandwich and an apple in. The girl was really excited about something in the bag– I decided it must be a new toy her parents had bought her in the big city and now they were going home. The mom looked in the bag and said, “Where did the other one go?” and I thought, “Oh, there were two toys and one must have fallen out onto the floor.”

They started looking in their other bags and under all the seats around them. Then the dad picked up the paper bag, opened it up and a tiny chick poked its head out and said, “CHEEP!” The girl laughed delightedly and everyone around them suddenly had a newfound interest in finding “the other one.”

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