No, It (Snot)

I boarded an articulated 14-Mission last week, and purely for shits and giggles, I chose to sit in the accordion section. One of the two-seaters was open, so I figured, why not?

Immediately across from me was a man of indeterminate age and mental ability. He could very well have been 32 and mentally retarded or 54 and blitzed off his rocker. One thing was for sure — he wasn’t like the rest of us.

But he was relatively clean. The warning sign for me was his incessant chewing of the cud, a systematic gyrating forward and backward of his lips and jaws.

After my initial curiosity and observation, I let my eyes wander. But they were drawn back in an instant when I noticed something emerging from the man’s nose. It didn’t quite look like snot or mucous (what’s the difference, anyway?), but more like spittle. It fell in a clean line over and down his top lip toward his mouth, stopping just about at that line where lips meet face.

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Only in San Francisco

Until the store in Pier 39 of the same name (Only in San Francisco) starts selling Eau de Urine parfum and employs a yelling, angry schizophrenic mascot, I’m going to go ahead and call bullshit on their choice moniker.

Favorite thing overheard on the 49 last night:

“I’m just doing this until I get into in clown school in January.”

If you’re wondering, “this” is living in a work-here-and-get-free-room-and-board hotels off Van Ness. (I thought those were whorehouses?)

Anyway,  many in SF (and in many major city) seem to be in a state of flux. I’m only doing this until I get into grad school. I’m working as a barista because I got laid off.  I had a high-stress job, now I’m working on my writing and taking it easy. But I wonder how many other people around the world hear “clown school” in relation to a career on their ride home.

Maybe that Only in San Francisco store can start selling clown attire for the budding painted-person-entertainment industry.

-Tara

Mission needs repaving. I need a job

Rode a 49 down Mission the other day for the first time in a month or so, and I noticed that the stretch between 16th and Cesar Chavez has actually gotten worse. It’s like kids have been out there with pickaxes, tearin’ shit up.

Perhaps the Obama administration’s infrastructure-stimulus plan can start right here in the heart of the Mission. I am now officially unemployed, and would love to get all Habitat for Humanity, only on road repair. Sign me up!

Sorry driver, them’s the rules

So I boarded a 49-Van Ness the other evening, with Gida, my 12-pound Boston Terrier, stowed safely in her bag. I paid my double-fare, per SFMTA regulations, and kindly asked the driver for an extra transfer. One “for my dog,” I said.

“Huh,” he answered, incredulous and condescending.

“Can I get a transfer for my dog? She’s in this bag.” I said, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“You don’t need that,” he said, as if I were new to this routine. Clearly, it was the other way around.

“Well, I’ve been asked several times for a transfer for her. I’m paying fare for her.”

At which point he begrudgingly handed me the transfer.

So, I refer this driver (and you, dog-owning Muni rider) to SFMTA’s rules concerning traveling with pets:

  • All other pets and non-service animals must be carried in small closed containers.
  • A fare equal to the owner’s must be paid for each non-service animal

Maybe, since I’m now unemployed, I can get some side work schooling Muni operators on their agency’s rules.

How is that comfortable?

Time for another incredulous installment of “is this you?”

I could smell your whiskey as soon as you stepped on the bus, you referred to the Latino driver using the ever-condescending “amigo!” and you sit like an asshole. I know the bus wasn’t full, but that’s no excuse.

Jackass.

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