Your place to share stories on and off the bus.
With the cold weather came a banner of HOLY SHIT LOOK AT THAT, spreading across the sky.
Jeff and I work across the street from this Muni lot by Pier 39, and it’s never looked quite so good. As he said before I took this pic, “This is God congratulating San Francisco on winning the World Series.”
Thanks, God?
Or, maybe that’s a cliché and I shouldn’t call it that. Let’s go with dear-diary moment, instead.
Like everyone who works on this site, I gravitate willfully toward wacky-on-Muni like some kind of masochist. But my perspective is skewed after one too many missed runs, NextBus fiascoes, or just plain ol’ bad timing. I’ve been catching a 47-Van Ness in the evenings, on and off for nearly three years, and it’s all pretty standard fare. But it’s been particularly bad in the evenings, as my phone now habitually returns NextBus results like “19, 29, 39 minutes” after saying 4 minutes when I first started waiting. Say what you will about who and what sucks in this scenario, but, until recently, that was unusual for me, that time, and that 47 stop at the start of the line.
I tried to self-help by first acknowledging some basic truths. I fucking hate the bus sometimes; there, I said it. But I’m not driving to work, and I’m realistically not going to walk from downtown or ride my bike every day. Cab, shmab.
Therefore: I am taking Muni to work for at least one leg, and I have to deal with it. Dealing with it doesn’t include screaming into a phone about “goddamn shitty drivers standing around doing nothing while we wait in the rain for this fucking bus to leave.” (Who was that woman?)
Yesterday, after receiving still more crappy results from NextBus, I just grabbed an F-Market/Wharves a few minutes later. And I got a seat. And…did you know streetcars are actually really pretty after dark? They’re always pretty, you say? Not at 8:50 a.m. as a commuter.
But, at night; the interior lighting is warm, unlike the unforgiving fluorescence of our standard buses. People aren’t in a hurry. Tourists take pictures as the also-lit-up Embarcadero buildings and Transamerica Pyramid come into view. You can’t see people outside that clearly, so you’re wrapped up in an almost-intimate, cozy transit cocoon, barreling along to Market Street.
How did this turn into a foufy post about the F?
Whether it happens again today, tomorrow, or next week, Muni actually managed to make me hate it and love it in less than 30 minutes. Even if/when the scale tips again toward hatred, I will still use the bus and I will still have to find these moments to keep me sane.
Photo by 0x0000org
1. Tara exits turnstiles at 24th and Mission BART station after a sleepy ride back from SFO. Clipper cash balance falls below threshold; Autoload triggered, just as it should.
2. On first commute back to work two days later, BART turnstiles say “see agent.” Agent shows, on his little machine thingie, a message that says, “BAD DEBT” (all caps, very scary). A customer-service call is in order. BART ticket must be purchased. (I am Tara’s boiling fit of not-really-contained public rage.)
3. Clipper Rep #1 says there’s nothing wrong with the account. Maybe the card itself is broken, she suggests? Add Fare machines couldn’t read it, so this seemed likely. (How much will it cost me if I don’t get a new card right away? Will I get a refund? I am Tara’s frustrated, tearful self-pity.)
4. Tara calls Clipper back to say, yes, something must be wrong with the card. Clipper Rep #2 checks into it further, and, at some point, mentions the last four digits of the credit card on file. This is an old card that does not exist! Ah: Clipper Rep #2 says this is why I have “bad debt,” triggered by the Autoload a couple days ago. But! It was updated! (Right? Hmm…)
5. Tara learns that she did, in fact, update her information in July. Tip: Always ALWAYS keep confirmation emails from Clipper when you update information; they contain reference numbers that should help if/when they don’t know what you’re talking about. She makes third call to Clipper that morning. (I am Tara’s violently flashing incompetency-radar.)
6. Clipper Rep #3 has no idea what Tara is talking about with this “bad debt” and “card not working” business. Everything looks fine, just as it did to Clipper Rep #1. No, no. Something is wrong. Look harder. Tara eventually gets the equivalent of, “Oh, there it is.” Info was updated correctly by the user, but it failed to be processed by Clipper.
Photo by shandopics
This diary teeters on the edge between tragic and comic. This driver is Tara’s Newman. The Muni system in the far northeast corner of San Francisco is her white whale. Read on …
Thursday after work, I saw the 47 idling at a red light before turning left at the corner of Beach and Powell. Great: I’m a few steps from the route’s origin, and the light’s still totally red. Surely, if I knock on the door (the bus was technically still touching its stop), I’ll be let on with plenty of time for everyone to be on schedule.
Nope.
The driver acknowledged my knock with a step-back motion, confusing me a bit, then continued to sit there for a few seconds until the light turned green.
And then she left.
I’ve booked it to the second stop before with good results (knowing that the bus has two more lefts to make before it gets there), so I indignantly jogged as best I could with a full gym bag, a yoga mat, and a purse. I was the horse and this bus was my carrot. Surprisingly, I made it to the outside back of the bus at that second stop. A guy stood on the stairs for a second before boarding, then I watched the doors close and the bus roll along.
There is no goddamn way she didn’t see me the second time, which made it even worse. I fumed via voicemail at the stop; yeah, I was that girl screaming obscenities into a phone while toting a peppy pink yoga mat. Welcome, tourists!
It got me thinking of what a driver once said to late arrivals; you can either get on the bus as it leaves a stop, or you can have the bus stay on schedule, but you can’t have both. Is it really one or the other? I’d hope it would be more case-by-case than that, personally.
Tara is saddened, almost to the point of tears on some days, that her only transit options away from Fisherman’s Wharf elude her so regularly.
Photo by Flickr user DaveFayram
I hate bagging on Muni drivers, whether it’s via the relative anonymity of the interwebs, to a friend at a party, or to their faces. It accomplishes nothing, as you’re still shit out of luck even after you’ve gotten worked up, right? But I had to say something this time.
Background: I spun this yarn a few weeks ago about a 49-Van Ness/Mission that inexplicably stopped at 14th Street, instead of continuing further south like it’s supposed to. Fine. Whatever. But during each of the three times this has happened to me, news of the offbeat route was announced with an inside voice that could shame the quietest church whispers. The 49 isn’t exactly quiet, either. All signs indicated that this was indeed a 49 that went the full route.
During my charmed third time on the 49-Stops at 14th Street, the bus pulls to a stop, and the same driver (at the same time of day) opens all the doors. He steps outside the bus, walks the length of one side, and notifies people with his inside voice, “last stop…last stop…last stop.”
As 50 people stare at one another confusedly, wondering if the driver simply bailed to the gas station for a snack, I stepped outside and asked if this was the last stop. I said he needs to actually announce this to people next time, because no one can hear him. That is why 50 people are still sitting on his bus.
His response: “The PA is broken, what do you want me to do?”
Hmm.
Yes, PAs break, especially on Muni, where a lot of things break all the time. And he’s apparently driving the same broke-ass bus every time, hence the regular lack of aurally acceptable announcements. Shitty. But come on; why did he go outside, first of all, instead of walking the length of the inside of the bus?
Consider this another plea for better communication between drivers and passengers.
If you’re curious, the bus turns east on 14th Street after slowly emptying its confused load of folks.
Image by Omar Lee
Ed. note: To read this story with a prettier layout, please visit it on The Bold Italic. BTW, pure coincidence, but this guy, featured a few weeks ago here on Muni Diaries, makes an appearance in this story (his name is Freeman).
I was born and bred in the Bay Area, which means I grew up ignoring San Francisco’s cable cars. I don’t even remember my first and only time on the trolley. Even though riding the carousel at Pier 39 is an indelible childhood memory, the cable car is not. That’s right: Pier 39 trumps the cable car for as long as I can remember. Ouch.
And I’m not the only local who feels this way. We can rattle off bus lines, poppin’ neighborhoods, and new restaurants and bars in the blink of an eye. But ask us where the Powell-Hyde cable car goes, exactly, and you’re likely to get a blank stare and a raised eyebrow in response. We’ll ride the cable cars when friends or family visit, sure. But it doesn’t stop us from dramatically sighing and complaining for weeks about the northeast part of town.
It’s sad, really. But admittedly, there are some very good reasons for this. Cable cars are limited in where they go and also in the diversity of its riders. They’re arguably kitschy, something urban people hate unless it comes with a heaping dose of irony. The cars’ relative slowness could shame even the pokiest crosstown bus line and, to add insult to injury, it’s $5 a pop if you don’t have a pass.
But that doesn’t have to be the case. I took my first memorable ride in 2008, the first year I had my own Fast Pass and therefore got “free” rides on the world’s only operating cable car system. I rode one because, well, why not?
Immediately, I was hooked, but no one else seemed to understand. These charming transit vehicles are too good for tourists’ use only. This story is my attempt to shed some light on the most misunderstood of SF icons, the trolley.