Category: WTF: Weirdness on Muni

Simple request via art found on Muni

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busart
Grumpy (Shut Up! Please), 2013, Crayola marker and pencil on notebook paper

Art shows up in the strangest places, and you don’t have to be Banksy to pull it off. Says @spiegelmama:

“Bus floor art worthy of framing.”

Indeed. Is it supposed to be a nagging spouse? A judge? A teacher? In any case, I think this pathos-inducing piece is begging for your commentary and analysis on the state of humanity.

Are you on Muni? What’re you looking at? Tell us at @munidiaries like @spiegelmama did.

Category: Photos, WTF: Weirdness on Muni

A New Spin on “Most Interesting Man” on Muni

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19-Polk
Photo by riz94107

Muni rider Santani seems to think he’s flypaper for “uncomfortably personal” interactions on Muni. After his most recent experience on the 19-Polk, I’m inclined to believe him:

Mr. Hamilton, who got on the bus, asked the one other black guy if he wanted ‘a piece of this’ (his fist), and then talked me up the whole ride about his martial arts prowess, his death and resurrection 18 years ago, his occupations as a Secret Serviceman, candidate for Congress, commercial writer, and “one of the best dancers in this town.”

Also: “BTW, Mr. Hamilton has a debate with Ed Lee coming up in September or October.”

Move over, Most Interesting Man in the World! You’ve got serious competition.

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Further goings-on at the intersection of Muni and Sk8r Ave.*

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skater
Photo by WarzauWynn

It was just yesterday that we reported a dude who bailed Muni via the emergency exit window, then rode off on his skateboard.

Today, Lani tells us about, well, this:

Kick-ass, whoever you are.

* No such street exists to my knowledge. But it should, amirite?

Category: WTF: Weirdness on Muni

“Faggot” on the 38-Geary: A Love Story

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muni 38 pride
Photo by torbakhopper

Muni rider Jesse James wore his Little Mermaid backpack on the 38-Geary. What followed his backpack was a story that we wish didn’t happen, but it did.

Lately I’ve been called a “faggot” with much more regularity than I appreciate. Having the f-bomb lobbed at you in San Francisco is the definition of unexpected. Like a sunny afternoon in August, it’s just not something you plan for as part of modern city living. And yet, it happens. To me it seems to happen with a frequency that is beginning to trouble me. In fact, it just happened the other day. On the bus. On a Wednesday.

The morning was chilly and damp and the 38-Geary was completely packed, as per its usual wants. To combat the elements, the driver had taken it upon herself to crank the heat up to its upper limits. When matched with the panting exhalations of the four to five thousand passengers crammed into the coach, a Floridian, sub tropic humidity enveloped us all and created an environ that left my brow sweaty at 9 a.m. I’d been on the 38-Geary for less than five minutes when I felt a gentle tug on the strap of my Little Mermaid backpack. Wondering why someone was touching me on the 38 this time, I turned slightly to see who was molesting my belongs only to find an adorable, child-sized little girl grasping to the dangly bits of my pack. Read more

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