Photo by Troy Holden
True, there is no “one” Muni experience. But there’s a generalized feeling. I think most people drawn to Muni Diaries know what I’m talking about. I’m not a great writer, but I’ll do my best to describe my ride Tuesday morning, and maybe you’ll see what I mean.
I joined a gaggle of waiting-to-pay F-Market/Wharves riders, calmly queuing as the streetcar pulled up to Market and Main. There was a light sprinkle, but nothing so bad as to make us clamor and push.
I took my place, standing, just inside the row of seats, near the driver. I overheard a passenger boarding behind me ask the driver whether she stopped at “Thirty-third.” “Pier 33, you mean?” driver asked. “Yeah,” the rider said. “Yes, I do.” “How much?” “Two dollars,” driver said. “For disabled?” rider asked. “Oh, no, $0.75.” Coins deposited, we start to move slowly.
The woman in the disabled-designated seat in front of me kindly offered our newest passenger the seat. “Nah, I’m good to stand.” “Are you sure? Please take the seat.” “Okay, thank you.”
I honestly believed I had just witnessed one of those rare, poignant scenes of real-world decency. Everything seemed to be running so smoothly and smiles were appearing on the faces of the crowded passengers.
… until. Read more
