Your place to share stories on and off the bus.
Time for another incredulous installment of “is this you?”
I could smell your whiskey as soon as you stepped on the bus, you referred to the Latino driver using the ever-condescending “amigo!” and you sit like an asshole. I know the bus wasn’t full, but that’s no excuse.
Jackass.
Is this you? Please don’t talk on the phone so loudly next time.
I realize you were lost on your way to meet friends and Muni did you some horrible injustice (welcome to the club). But once you say “Wait, I’m bothering people on the bus” to whoever you’re talking to, you basically have about 30 seconds to get off the phone before you become the biggest asshole on the bus. FAIL. Visit Muni Manners for more helpful hints!
Thx.
I was on the loudest bus Wednesday. And that’s saying a lot coming from someone who’s regularly accused of being the loudest person anyone knows.
I live along the 31-Balboa line. Though I only know two other people who live on this line, I highly recommend a ride just for the quick-and-dirty, 40-minute lesson in San Francisco neighborhoods and people. It starts on Market, just south of the Financial District. It goes past the nicer parts of Market (until you hit the mall), then past the not-so-nice parts (mind the needles). Straight through the Tenderloin it goes, through the Western Addition and Fillmore, past Laurel Heights and into the Richmond, toward its final stop by the ocean. By extension, you can imagine the bus has a range of clientele, from FiDi yuppies to awkward USF students to cadres of obnoxious, fearless teenagers to petite Asian ladies armed with pink plastic bags.
You can probably tell where I’m going with this. No, I’m not race-baiting; I despise all willing disrupters of the bus ride equally.
But let’s focus on those obnoxious, fearless teenagers for now. They were not only loud talkers; they used the rude, yet effective “Can I get by, shit!?” to cut through the standing crowd. They then used the actual bus as a drum to accompany their impromptu song for which people silently (read: passive-aggressively) shot them angry looks. The irony meter (and everyone’s patience) tipped when a man aggressively asked them to quiet down. He then proceeded to yell into his phone about some hot chick at Starbucks.
I think that ride even beat my morning journey on the F; the one with a whole classroom of eight-year-olds.
What do you think is the loudest line? Please let me know so I can avoid it at all costs.
Tara Ramroop isn’t that loud. OK, maybe she is, but never on the bus.
As a word nerd, as well as a recent visitor to a handful of foreign countries, odd sentence construction is one of the biggest WTFs you can come across if you’re not entirely fluent in a language; even if you speak a fairly decent textbook version thereof.
But I mostly write this tale as a woman, horrified by a man’s conversational skills on a moving vehicle, where everyone can (unfortunately) hear every word of his awkward conversation with two girls from Switzerland.
It’s good to be home.
Let me start the tale of awkwardness by explaining the body language in this situation, for which I fully craned my neck to get a gander at. Two girls, maybe 20, but probably younger, were standing on a crowded bus, chatting among themselves. A man, who was probably around 30, was standing behind them, attempting over (and over) again to engage them in conversation. I think we all know that it’s a bad sign when the object of your conversational interest: 1) doesn’t ask you a single question back, or 2) only turns around to face you when you ask one of your many questions.
But off he went anyway. Here’s a sampling:
Guy: So what goes on in Switzerland?
Swiss girls: What?
Guy: What do you do there? Like, for fun?
Commentary: “What’s going on?” is a very oddly worded phrase on its own. Turn it around like the way he did, to people who aren’t fluent in English, and you get this.
There’s a reason foreign English is funny; we never say things like “The reason for this is because…” unless we’re directly translating from another language. So a phrase like “What’s going on?” definitely loses something in the translation.
Guy: So there are a lot of mountains and stuff in Switzerland?
Swiss girls: Um, yes. Many mountains.
Commentary: Clutching at straws then, aren’t we? This kind of question is always the low point, on whatever end of the conversation you’re on. I personally ask questions like this when I don’t like someone, but am forced to be in their company, or am horribly uncomfortable.
But he continues with the kicker!
Guy: So, how old are you girls? 15? 16? 17?
Swiss girl 1: What’s the saying? You don’t ask a woman her age?
Guy: Nah, that’s only for women in their 30s!
Commentary: Good answer from the girls, and probably a good indication that they spoke better English than they first let on. Also, you’re a creepy asshole if you look anywhere near the vicinity of 30 (or older) and ask such a question. You then earn more creepy points for denouncing the statement as something for women…in your own age group.
Everyone eventually got off the bus, leaving me to stew in their residual cloud of awkward.
Yeah, it’s good to be home.
Tara Ramroop has only been let down a handful of times by Muni in the week since she’s been back. Progress?
Let’s start with a logic puzzle of sorts.
Q: Where are you if you see four J-Church metro trains, all headed downtown?
A: Gee, probably on Church? Maybe in Glen Park. One thing’s for sure, you can’t possibly be at Carl and Cole, smack-dab in N-Judah territory.
Oh, wait.
I was going out to Cole Valley yesterday, meaning the N-Judah would, theoretically, be the best way there. I didn’t run into huge problems on the way there, but coming back was another story altogether.
No, ma’am. It wasn’t your facial hair. Nor was it your morbid obesity. These things I can look past.
You didn’t hoard any seats, spit, or litter. I’m pretty sure you flashed a Fast Pass and took your seat, not refusing to move to the back of a crowded coach like so many of your fellow riders.
No, your offense was perhaps more egregious: You treated us all, a peaceful bunch of weekday morning 31-Balboa riders, to an exclusive, VIP performance of … your phone conversation with a friend. Loud and clear, thank you.
It was so wonderfully annoying, really, the way you neglected to shield your loud mouth from us. Otherwise we might not have been privy to all those glorious details of your home and social life.
Unless it’s an emergency, or you can keep it brief and quiet, put your phone away.
– Jeff
Jeff has heard his fair share of excuses.