Your place to share stories on and off the bus.
Photo by Vic Wong
Vic Wong over at Mission Mission the other day posted a series of badges. They represent different BART maintenance yards, scattered all over the Bay Area (near the ends of BART lines, naturally). We at BART Diaries respect those who help maintain a robust, well-functioning (if noisy) rail system. We think their badges are cool, too.
Read Vic’s post for more.
Flickr contributor DavidTakesPics sent the photo above to our Muni Photos Flickr group. It’s not the first photo we’ve seen of someone asleep on Muni; it is, perhaps, the first we’ve seen of someone so camped out as to be totally obscured, under the tent, as it were. Kinda reminds us of a sweet and tender Muni moment from last September, in which two dudes were caught catching their Zs on an unwitting passenger. Hey, sometimes, nature calls.
But we wonder: Do you ever accidentally fall asleep on Muni? Lord knows sometimes your commute is longer than you planned. And sometimes, even the most upsetting ruckus can evolve into white noise, and lull us to sleep. Snoozing on BART is a well-established art, it’s true. Still, BART is no Muni. Is it safe or advisable to get shuteye on Muni?
Also, if you fall asleep on Muni, you’re going to miss all the great stuff that should be on this site. Instead, you might become that stuff.
Sweet dreams …
Photo by Flickr user kevindooley
It was a crowded 5-Fulton outbound on a Tuesday commute. Somewhere near the Civic Center, a blind man and his girlfriend (also partially blind) got on the bus and were given seats near the front but not next to one another. Closer to City Hall, a boy around the ages of 7-9 got on the bus with his mother and stood near the front of the bus.
The boy had noticed the blind man’s walking cane and began to talk with him.
Boy: “Sir, what’s that stick for?”
Blind man: “Oh, it’s to help me find my way around because I cannot see.”
Boy: “You can’t see? What do you mean? Can you see me?”
Blind man: “Unfortunately, no, I cannot see you, at least not in this dim light [on the bus].”
Boy: “I wish you could see me. I would give you my eyes so you can see.”
Blind man: “You are so very sweet, thank you.”
The boy’s mother, meanwhile, seemed uncomfortable with her son being overly inquisitive with a stranger. She continued to hush and scold him for asking too many questions throughout the conversation.
Boy: “Do you cook?”
Blind man: “Oh, no way, I don’t. But my girlfriend cooks for me.”
The blind man motions to his girlfriend in the general direction of her voice.
Boy: “Oh, you are his girlfriend?”
Girlfriend: “Yes, I am.”
Boy: “Can you see me?”
Girlfriend: “I also cannot see, but I can see better than my boyfriend.”
Boy: “Why can you both not see? I wish I could give both of you my eyes so you can see me and everyone else here.”
Girlfriend: “That’s so very kind of you, thank you.”
The boy and his mother had to get off the bus around Fillmore. Before he got off the bus, he bid his farewell to the couple.
Boy: “It was nice meeting you, Sir.” He takes the blind man’s hand into his own and shakes it.
Blind man: “It was very nice meeting you, too. Thank you.”
Boy: “It was nice meeting you, Miss.” He hugs the girlfriend.
Girlfriend: “You are so sweet, thank you. You take care of yourself and your mother now.”
The boy and his mother exited, and enough seats freed up between the couple so they could find one another again by the sound of each other’s voices.
Photo by Telstar Logistics
It’s hard out there for an urban lady. You get cat-calls on your way to work, then you get yelled at all the way down the block for ignoring them. You turn around and look at everyone walking behind you, conveying to even the innocents that you could identify them in a lineup if you had to. It’s a part of a semi-automatic routine adopted for our various journeys throughout town. So pardon us if we’re a little suspicious of any and all people, particularly males, if we’re waiting for the bus.
So there’s this tall, larger, older-to-middle-age guy standing at the 14-Mission/49-Van Ness/former 26-Valencia stop on Otis Street. He’s got a little bag of presents in a tote bag, a receptacle that, for some reason, was not capable of holding the many items he had dangling around his neck. FastPass. Keys. Other card-type things. He’d probably have a troll on there if he could. His jeans are hiked up beyond his gut, resting comfortably around his chest. His vibe was a little off, right from the get-go. But a lot of people in SF are a little off; the question, as always, remains as to whether he was silly-off or dangerous-off.
He turns and asks me and Jeff, Mr. Muni Diaries, about the 26, after realizing on his own that it wasn’t in service anymore. His conversational rhythm came with lengthy, continued stares once you’ve answered his questions. He didn’t turn and look away at anything while he was talking. He didn’t turn around and see if the bus was down the street. While he stared our faces raw, he explained how he had many VHS tapes he was attempting to convert; had a little machine and everything. We basically ran into Milton from Office Space.
Less than a minute into this conversation, I did what any urban lady (or gentleman) does: suspiciously attempt to figure out whether this stranger is dangerous or just weird. The resulting train of thought, for those of us who weren’t Green Berets, is actually an amazing one, I must say. It can prompt everything from laughter, to embarrassment, to relief, to further suspicion, in the span of a minute, unlike any other learned or innate behavior.
“…what’s he staring at?” > “Hmm, could he be sizing me up for his freezer at home?” > “Does he have anything sharp?” > “What’s his expression like…you can always tell these psycho killers from their eyes, right?” > “Ah. Harmless.” It was a pleasant surprise, one that did make me feel a little silly (Who’s afraid of Milton? Turns out I am.)
But I really wouldn’t have it any other way if I’m going to keep (and I will) calling this wacky place home. Thanks, evolution.
Photo by Flickr user frankfarm
It was late-ish. 11 p.m. Late for my getting-old ass, anyway. I was tired, having just come from a Muni Diaries editorial meeting, and needing to commute from Pac Heights back to the Mission. The NextBus marquee read 8 minutes until the next 49-Van Ness was due. Fine.
As is my custom, I staked a space just beyond the bus shelter. Tired as I was, my legs could stand to … stand a bit longer. Minutes went by, and I walked back over to the shelter to see what NextBus would prophesy. But before my head could do a wrap-around 180, one of the dudes sitting down informed me that it would be about 4 minutes. Fine.
I remained by the shelter for some reason, and that was enough to warrant some banter between the two seated dudes. It was then that I looked closer and realized that they were fare inspectors. Nice enough gents, working late. Cool stuff.
Then that thing in me that my fiancée loves to hate reared its ugly head. I can’t remember what topic I chose, but I did it: I shot the shit with these guys. Nothing big or consequential, but the talk inevitably revolved around Muni and their work, inspecting fares.
A few minutes later, as NextBus began “NextBusing” (4 minutes, 2 minutes, 7 minutes, arriving), an SFPD officer pulled up in the stop. The fare inspectors simultaneously saw the bus coming, and one of them had glommed onto me conversationally. Things were getting really interesting.
The cop parked his car all the way forward in the striped part of the bus stop and got out of his squad car casually just before the bus pulled up. I boarded first, just in front of the inspectors, who were followed by one of SF’s finest.
I took my backward-facing seat and overheard a call for show of proof of payment. We started moving, and a few minutes later, the inspector who seemed to like chatting with me slightly more than his partner found me. We shot it some more, and this was where things got really interesting.
I managed to slip in earlier in the conversation that I “help run a Muni-related website.” I think he liked that, probably more than he actually liked me. But here’s what it got me: The guy showed me two or three of his confiscated fake Fast Passes.
One was on really thin, standard copier paper. It was printed in color, but only on one side. This dummy coulda spotted that thing a mile away.
Another was on thicker-stock paper, something I’d call hella close to what SFMTA uses. It was printed on both sides, and my immediate reaction to its dramatic simulation was: “Whoa, how can you tell this one is fake?”
“Look at the magnetic stripe,” he said. And there it was, the non-shiny giveaway.
The inspectors deboarded around Market, and I’m sure I had a silly grin on my face the rest of my ride home. It was like I had been to the Muni museum, circa 2009. It was like a field trip, a ride-along. It was out-of-this-world, and to this day, one of my favorite Muni rides.
It just goes to show: sometimes small talk can yield rewards.
Seventy-One from memetic field on Vimeo.
Memetic (coincidentally, the winner of our “Be our 1,000th follower on Twitter” contest) sent us this poignant video. It’s called “Seventy-One,” and it’s neat.