Your place to share stories on and off the bus.
Photo by rafeejewell
Headline of the day goes to SF Appeal: USF Liberates the 5-Fulton And 21-Hayes; Summer Dancers Bunk Elsewhere.
One less thing for us all to bitch about …
Previously in the “Prima donnas on Muni” department:
To be fair, sometimes Muni leaks on wet days like today.
Also, the balls! During rush hour!
Photo by @cyclones01
Via @fitfoxes:
OH on the 10: Not so suave guy: “What do you do in your free time?” Not havin’ it girl: “Hang out with my boyfriend.”
Oh. Snap.
Unlike most native San Franciscans, though, his dad drove Muni buses during H.P.’s childhood and adolescence. Naturally, H.P.’s relationship with our beloved transit is unique.
Colma: The Musical or Fruitfly really showcase H.P.’s uncanny ability to capture many aspects of our gritty urban existence, in playful melodies and hilarious rhyme.
The above clip is H.P. performing “Public Transit,” a song he wrote for Fruitfly. Here’s a taste of the lyrics:
As far as cities like this go.
There are none like San Francisco.
You can take it all apart by section.
Seven miles in any direction.I’ll never be stuck in gridlock.
I’m fine with walking on the sidewalk.
If you need to get somewhere faster.
Sing along with the working-class bastards.Public transit, every destination sits upon a track.
Put your faith in public transit, there’s enough of it to go around and back.
Have a listen, and we dare you not to get this one stuck in your head for the rest of today.
Photo by Troy Holden
I’m on the 47 on my way to work and had been listening to the mutterings of the man across the aisle from me. He was carrying a garbage bag of his belongings and a paper bag with unspecified booze; and he was getting louder and louder.
“Lord Jesus, I’m ready to die,” he said. “I have no job, I have no money,” (the girl next to him gets up to stand somewhere away from him), “I have my momma’s debt, my daddy’s debt, and I’m ready to die because I don’t want to be nobody’s bother.” Everyone looks away awkwardly, including me. The man starts laughing about something else. Then I realize that we weren’t moving.
I looked up and a cleanly dressed younger guy in the front of the bus was talking to the driver, pointing at the drunkard. “He’s drinking alcohol…openly…” I overhear him telling the drivers.
Really?
The drunk wasn’t really bothering anybody except for our guilty conscience, and he didn’t even smell. How are you trying to kick the drunk guy off the bus after he said he’s ready to meet his death because he has nothing? And isn’t a drunk man muttering to himself a regular sight on Muni? The driver got up and glanced at the drunkard, who said, “Don’t mind me, I’m just waking up.” The driver sat back down and started driving again.
Because of the “good Samaritan,” I missed the connecting train I was trying to catch, which is just one of my many first-world problems. I guess it’s just another Monday.
