Tara Ramroop has laughed, cried, and commiserated with this amazing community from the start. She's been writing for as long as she can remember and riding Muni for more than a decade.

Na na na na na na na na Batkids!

batkids

Today, San Francisco Chronicle’s Matier and Ross said it cost SF roughly $105,000 for Batkid to save our fair city. These Batkid assistants probably don’t care, though–nor should they.

Muni rider Sheila shared this on the Muni Diaries Facebook page on the most festive Friday San Francisco ever saw, noting that the kids were “on their way to assist Batkid in SF’s own Batmobile!”

Maybe thinking of Muni Metro as the Batmobile will make your commute more palatable? SFBatkid lessons live on.

Thanks for sharing, Sheila!

Strange cargo on Muni: They call me yellow cello

yellocello

OK, it’s actually technically a bass, but now the headline doesn’t make sense.

Funny, cool, and odd, all at once: our favorite. As far as strange cargo on Muni goes, this is perhaps the friendliest-seeming one yet. I’d also like to direct your attention to the hat atop the head of the human holding the instrument. ’nuff said.

Thanks for sharing on the ‘gramz, @beth_winegarner. Send us cool photos like this one @munidiaries.

Muni driver inspires Peninsula church

ministry
Photo by Montauk Beach

The driver-rider relationship is a strained one in these parts. While we (and you, judging by your tweets @munidiaries) would agree that there are some pieces of work out there, let’s not forget about the good eggs in this basket.

Linda Wilson-Allen, a driver on the 45-Union/Stockton line, is one such egg. In a San Francisco Chronicle feature last month, she said she treats her job like ministry. Soon thereafter, she was called upon by Menlo Park Presbyterian Church to share some inspirational words for its congregation. Read more in The Gospel Herald Ministries.

Whichever spaghetti monster floats your boat, I think we can all agree that her attitude probably results in way happier passengers than average.

We have a couple other favorites here on Muni Diaries. There was Tammy, the Muni driver who threw a party for her passengers on the 33. And let’s not forget the Muni driver who sings the names of the stops. We’re sure there are more unsung heroes out there, so send them our way so they can get the props they deserve.

Chewbacca is concerned about your Muni etiquette

chewie_on_muni

“Get on the train. I don’t care what you smell!”

Leanne spotted this on what she thinks was an L at Powell Street Station:

I think the guy standing next to him is the owner, since he had a camera and might have been taking it on a shoot, but I love that he acted like it wasn’t his. Or maybe the owner was watching from afar. Pretty funny!

See, had it been me, I would’ve demanded everyone know.

We’ve seen this Chewbacca fella at a BART station, as the valiant Wookie with the heart of gold scared people into transit politeness. Just kidding, even Chewy can’t do that.

I hate big balls (on Muni) and I cannot lie

balls
Photo by davitydave

Oh, men taking up too much space on the train (dot tumblr dot com). Patty sent this to us wondering who’ll create the SF version. It’s been a while, but we have addressed this infuriating, still-relevant phenomenon:

  • Yeah, I don’t care if you’re busy reading The Wall Street Journal and counting your money, because you’ve taken two more seats than you should have.
  • Tiffany. Dear Tiffany, her fabulous tweed trousers, and her phone were up against this be-denimed big-balls invader. After she sat down and provided the ultimate unspoken “It’s time to move over” clue.
  • It’s proven such a problem in Boston, our wicked cool (<– yeah, it never gets old, sorry) pals at the AboutWomen Project started a movement and designed a badge in protest: No Man-Sitting.

Yes, we should (and we do) say something [after we possibly document it for the Internet]. But, until we do and even if we don’t, please mind your balls and your manners, gentlemen, as this seems largely the domain of male ridership. Seat-taking ladies, though, that goes for you, too.

Oh, a gay friend says he, ever so slightly, will rub up on your macho legs until you clam up (and do you ever), but I think our gay brothers really have more important things to do.

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