Well, is it a “warning,” or isn’t it?
Why the quotes, Muni?
Meanwhile, check out this awesome “blog” about “unnecessary” quotation marks.
Photo by Bhautik Joshi
Category: Story Archive
Pub crawl round-up
The first Muni Diaries pub crawl was a success! Despite some of us forgetting what time the festivities began *points at self*, a nice little group of us met up first at Lucky 13, surrounding a table covered in happy-hour pints, Goldfish crackers, popcorn and Muni Diaries buttons.
From there, we NextBus’d a 22, which we thought we were boarding. The marquis on the bus that pulled up read, “S.F. Muni,” and the driver asked everyone who boarded where they wanted to go. If their desired stop was along the route to (presumably) the Potrero yard, they were allowed gratis entry. Those of us ready to fork over fare lucked out, thanks to this exceedingly generous driver.
From there, we swung over to Dalva, where we happened to bump into Greg from N-Judah Chronicles on his way out. We convinced Greg and his brother to stick around, and they did. We picked up a couple more crawlers at Dalva (which, for the record, is an iPhone 3G and EDGE dead zone, thus the Twitter drop off last night), then proceeded to Mission to await a 14 or 49.
Visual Rapists, Thieves, and Prada
So I’m riding the 6, heading outbound, up Haight Street when i hear this woman having a conversation. She’s young, well-dressed and wearing a pair of dark dark sunglasses. And at first she’s just talking to herself, quietly, saying things like, “I know who you are, I know who you are.” She’s repeating it over and over, rocking from side to side while doing so.
I notice peeps are starting to look around, trying to figure out who she’s talking to, maybe it’s them, maybe it’s herself, it’s tough to say because of those dark glasses. It’s then that the bus makes a stop at Divisadero and a few passengers get on. This guy in a blue button up and navy pants sits in the open seat next to the woman. I see everybody kind of look around at each other, knowing this guy just stepped on a land mine.
The bus driver closes the door and with one big jerk the bus chugs up the hill.
“I know who you are, I know who you are. ” The woman starts rocking again, but this time she turns the guy in the blue shirt and says, “Quit looking at me.” The guy looks puzzled. “What,” he says. “Quit looking at me, you think you know me? I know who you are, I know who you are,” she says.
Then the woman shifts in her seat and starts screaming at the top of her lungs, “Visual Rapist! Visual Rapist! Stop looking at me Visual Rapists!”
Dear John
As with a number of interpersonal issues, writing a letter (with the optional step of posting it on the internet) can be a productive outlet to air one’s grievances. So …
Dearest Singing Guy on the 49 (Bus 7020),
You’re an asshat. But unlike a long line of asshats before you, you at least seem to know it.
I got on around 8 p.m. at Van Ness/Otis, that janky excuse for a block with Power Exchange on it. I only rode until 20th Street, but you actually managed to sing the whole time. But I guess god explicitly forbade you from singing something good, or even bad in a fun way. Whatever it was sounded like something my nephew would find on Barney. While you seem to be at or around the same developmental level as him (my nephew, not Barney. Well, actually…) you still looked closer to 30 than to 3. Unacceptable.
Muni Mani-Pedi (Say It Three Times!)
Our very own Suzanne was trolling Flickr getting our Muni photo pool together and found this other captivating Flickr Group Pool: Muni Mani-Pedi. It is, very much so, what it sounds like — photos of people snip-snapping away, and probably subsequently depositing their clippings for the rest of us to relish.
If you’ve captured photos or (even barfier) videos of this strange but much-too-frequent phenomenon, send them to us and the Flickr group.
Pulling out the flask on the 5 (and other bus boozing)
I’ve noticed a lot more substance abuse on Muni lately. I’m not talking about the teenagers smoking pot or even drunk USF frat boys on a Friday night. I’m talking about morning and evening rush hour, regular-looking adults boozing it up on the bus. It started a few weeks ago on my evening commute home on the 5. This late-twenties-looking redheaded guy in hipster work attire busted out a flask. Now, since a flask is classier than a brown bag and it was the evening I guess he can be excused. I know I enjoy a glass of red wine with dinner. Maybe he was just getting a head start.
Then last week the morning substance abuse started to appear. I was on the 30 heading down to SoMa. Sitting across from me was a perfectly upstanding-looking, 50-something man who appeared to be on his way to work. Then what did he pull from his messenger bag, not an iPhone or a muffin, but a wine cooler. A fuzzy navel, bright orange, enjoyed by 18-year-old girls, wine cooler. At first I was unsure what it was, since I don’t think I’ve seen a wine cooler in 6 years, but it was Bartels and James in its full glory. He meticulously wrapped a paper towel around it and began sipping away. When I relayed the story to a co-worker, she responded quickly, “It’s the economy, he probably doesn’t have a job.” I can’t say I agreed at the time, if I didn’t have a job and I had a drinking problem I would be in bed on Tuesday morning at 9 a.m., but I’ve never been a morning person.