Photo by Troy Holden
I’m on the 47 on my way to work and had been listening to the mutterings of the man across the aisle from me. He was carrying a garbage bag of his belongings and a paper bag with unspecified booze; and he was getting louder and louder.
“Lord Jesus, I’m ready to die,” he said. “I have no job, I have no money,” (the girl next to him gets up to stand somewhere away from him), “I have my momma’s debt, my daddy’s debt, and I’m ready to die because I don’t want to be nobody’s bother.” Everyone looks away awkwardly, including me. The man starts laughing about something else. Then I realize that we weren’t moving.
I looked up and a cleanly dressed younger guy in the front of the bus was talking to the driver, pointing at the drunkard. “He’s drinking alcohol…openly…” I overhear him telling the drivers.
Really?
The drunk wasn’t really bothering anybody except for our guilty conscience, and he didn’t even smell. How are you trying to kick the drunk guy off the bus after he said he’s ready to meet his death because he has nothing? And isn’t a drunk man muttering to himself a regular sight on Muni? The driver got up and glanced at the drunkard, who said, “Don’t mind me, I’m just waking up.” The driver sat back down and started driving again.
Because of the “good Samaritan,” I missed the connecting train I was trying to catch, which is just one of my many first-world problems. I guess it’s just another Monday.
