We don’t often talk about the behind-the-scenes stuff at Muni Diaries because we are really about your stories. But occasionally something happens at Muni Diaries headquarters that just makes us go, “I can’t believe that happened.”
One of the great things about running Muni Diaries is that we get to try any and all ideas, and along the way we met really great people who also have fun and wacky ideas. Sometimes those fun and wacky ideas turn into a whole another thing altogether. And in this case, one idea to incorporate a Muni shelter into our art show with photographer Julie Michelle turned into a battle for the heart and soul of San Francisco.
In today’s podcast, Tara and I dive into our archives to share the backstory of how we came to briefly own a Muni shelter, and why we are still searching for it today.
Comedian Becca Henry was born in San Francisco and got her start on stage performing comedic burlesque before making her way to standup. You might remember her as a fierce Muni Haiku challenger in our come-back show in April. Becca said on stage that every haiku she wrote for that evening was true, so we, naturally, asked Becca to tell us more.
In today’s episode, she recounts one wild evening on BART on New Year’s Eve as she was heading to a performance.
We will absolutely squeeze as much mileage out of that joke as we can, sorry not sorry.
Almost exactly two years after canceling our 2020 show and thinking we might be up and running by the summer (LOL), we finally brought Muni Diaries Live back to the Rickshaw Stop last week. We celebrated our 14th (!) birthday with another sold-out crowd—no small feat after isolating ourselves for two years—and man, it felt great to hear stories in real life.
One of my favorite things about Muni Diaries is how naturally people share stories or “you won’t believe what happened” anecdotes. Sometimes those come in as longer write-ups or poignant images, but they’re often snack-size snapshots that sneak into our social feeds. From a reader on the Muni Diaries Facebook page:
One time I was super hungover trying to get home to the Sunset. I secretly puked in my own bag. I was only 2 stops away and didn’t feel like I could walk. I was almost there!!! (This was more than 10 years ago btw.)
I feel you, and I see you, reader. I also think this was the most polite option for all involved.
If you’ve cleared your last meal and are curious about how often this happens on Muni, listen to this podcast episode how it played out for Muni Diaries Live storyteller Kristee Ono, dig into our Muni vomit archive or come clean with a story of your own.
When we say “story,” it doesn’t have to be long, it doesn’t have to involve vomit, but it does have to be your own experience in this funny place we call home. Email email@example.com, or tag us @munidiaries on Twitter, Instagram, or Facebook.
Storyteller Kathleen Auterio moved to San Francisco from Massachusetts to do new things, just like in the Bee Gees song. It was the year 2000, and everything seemed to be on track: she had an apartment, a roommate, and a job at SF Weekly managing the adult ads in the back of the paper—a job that accepted her as a proud metalhead. After meeting a new guy at the paper, though, they would soon come face to face with a relationship trust exercise involving a field hospital surgery.
(We can’t wait for you to listen to the episode so you can fully get all the puns we stuffed into this post. Our mouths are still agape.)
We want to hear your story about how San Francisco changed you—or vice versa! If you have a story to share or know someone who does, pitch us your story idea by emailing us at firstname.lastname@example.org. And don’t forget to subscribe to the podcast so you don’t miss any of these true tales from the city.
Muni is the lifeline that powers our city, and its importance in everyday life stands out especially in a time of crisis. We recently got a letter underscoring this fact from new mom Cole Brennan, whose newborn was in the ICU for two weeks. Sharing her letter with us via Instagram, she says:
Dear Muni Operators, When I yell “Thank You!” to you, through my double masks from the back door at the stop at 3rd & 20th, please know it is the most sincere thanks I’ve ever given a stranger.
It’s true that I’m the sort of person who always thanks the bus driver. And it’s true that after many months of not riding the bus I was likely to feel an extra surge of gratitude once I finally started riding again. But the gratitude I’ve felt for you this month goes well beyond my usual thankfulness.
For two weeks you helped me get to the Children’s Hospital so I could visit my newborn in the Intensive Care Nursery.
You, Muni operator, are part of a small galaxy of helpers that held my little family be together during the longest weeks of my life.