Adventures on the MUNI

I’m starting to get out of the house a little bit more now and I am beginning to reacquaint myself with the formalities and etiquette of public transportation. Since I am still not working full time I have yet to purchase a monthly bus pass. I did however acquire ten dollars worth of quarters at the local laundromat which suits my immediate needs just fine. Psychologically though, I am tortured by my lack of my monthly MUNI Fast Pass I know it’s elementary, but to have a bus pass is to feel as though you are part of an elite club which I like to refer to as The Card Carrying Cool Kids Club. Having a MUNI Fast Pass gives you unlimited access to every single bus that runs in San Francisco, and although I am only familiar with one (the 1 California) I am told that there are 89 buses not including the street cars.
With unlimited access and an abundance of travel options, it is almost like having a private driver without having to become rich and employ him,and the bus driver nor the bus are private. I’m sure you’ve noticed those blithe riders who glide onto the bus carelessly flashing their shiny, colorful month-themed MUNI passes as they saunter to their ‘reserved’ seats. Fast Pass owners carry themselves with a little more confidence, grace, and poise than the rest of the MUNI passengers. The Fast Pass solidifies the fact that you are an avid user of public transportation, you know the city like the back of your hand, and more importantly, you know exactly where you are going, and where your stop is. I know all of this because I was once a member of the Card Carrying Cool Kids Club. For six glorious months I waltzed onto every bus that came my way (the 1) with my head held high and my nose in the air. But alas, those days are in the past. It is a humbling experience to be devoid of a Fast Pass after going so long with one. I am now back to paying the bus driver with dimes and nickels I’ve scrounged from the bottom of my bag, or quarters which I’ve stolen usually from Monica’s room, and sneaking onto the bus at the end of the day with my expired transfer ticket, praying I won’t get caught. Not having a bus pass has also made me really think twice about when I am truly in need of San Francisco’s transportation services, as $1.50 gets increasingly hard to come by as the weeks progress. Although it is not a steep fare, it is one more expense I must add in to my trip or excursion. This has led me to my newest exercising kick - walking. If it is between the hours of 10:00am and 7pm I will most likely resort to walking to my final destination, and will most often elicit your participation if we are traveling together.

But no matter if I have a Fast Pass or not, one thing is certain, I have missed my daily jaunts on public transportation.

Let me reminisce for you some of my most lasting impressions from my days with MUNI…

1) For Molly’s birthday a group of us conveniently caught the same bus bringing with us our own refreshments in case we got parched during the long ride (30 minutes) to Kells. If memory serves, we ran out of our private stock ten minutes into the ride, luckily a very nice man boarded with his own twelve pack and upon much heckling and prodding, proceeded to offer Molly a birthday beer after cracking one open for himself. It is at this point that the bus driver begins to go downhill and whether it was a power issue or the bus driver's own sweet charity, the light went out. This happened every time we went down hill and in our somewhat altered states of mind this played out for us as a roller coaster of epic proportions.

2) The daily commute is always a little repetitive so it’s nice when someone comes on and shakes things up a bit. On this particular fall morning I was already half way into my morning commute and thus, was caught off guard by the arrival of that morning’s unscheduled entertainment. I am sure that this man has a much more lurid name than the one I am providing him but for the sake of this story I’ll refer to him as G-Unit. I heard G-Unit before I saw him as he had conveniently forgotten his headphones at the half way house. He makes his way steadily to the back of the bus where I am situated and finds a seat across from me. I tried to hide myself in the book I was reading, unfortunately whatever I was reading was just not that interesting, as I could not get myself to concentrate over the booming rap music coming from his CELLULAR DEVICE. Take note that this was not strictly a music device but a CELLULAR PHONE he was bumping to. G-Unit really knew his music and he rapped along to every song that came out of the minute, muffled speakers. Now, G-Unit definitely had the right look going for an up and coming rapper. He had adorned himself in the typical gangsta uniform- a Mexican tuxedo ten sizes too big with some new Timbalands and the mandatory crucifix (bright blue and plastic) hanging from his neck. His rap skills were not amazing, he could follow along with the lyrics. I think he could have really gotten farther in his career if he just enunciated a little more. If he was going for the 50 Cent slur that occurs after being shot in the face though, then G-Unit was dead on. Although I did not hear the PHONE IN HIS POCKET ringing I soon heard what sounded like a conversation. But as I looked up I realized that he was not talking on the phone producing the music, he had conveniently carried two cellular devices with him in case of emergencies like these. By this time I stopped even pretending to be reading whatever book I had in my hands and was giving my full attention to this peculiar gentleman. Without missing a beat G-Unit proceeded to discuss his departure from jail and his probation requirements, simultaneously rapping to the song playing in the first phone while listening to the person on the other end of the line. I soon learned that this lovely fellow was from St. Louis, and much preferred the women of California to the St. Louis women who had donkey asses and donkey thighs. I know he was very adamant about this too as he repeated this several times. Unfortunately I never found out G-Unit’s real name or what his debut album was titled but I am sure that it is a big hit in the California penitentiaries.

3) This was a rather unfortunate experience and one of the reasons why I choose to ride the 1 whenever possible. My boyfriend came to visit me one weekend which was actually quite a feat for him, as he is not a fan of urban areas of any kind. He abhors crowds, despises dirt of any kind, and loathes public transportation. It was a beautiful Saturday and we had planned to visit the Museum of Modern Art. I proposed we take the 38 as it will take us within four or five blocks of our destination. He begrudgingly concedes and we make our way to the bus.
Before I continue, I must explain something. I only ever take the 1. It picks me up right outside my house, and takes me everywhere- from my haircut, to my work, to Lani and Anna’s house, the Financial District, and Downtown. As far as I’m concerned it’s the best bus in the world. Unfortunately our ultimate destination required that we take the 38, which is two blocks away on Geary. What a difference those two blocks make. The worst situation you would ever experience on the 1 is a stubborn old person who refuses to move from the aisle/seat/door. The 38 is another story.
This was Colin’s first venture on San Francisco public transportation and I promised him it would not be as bad as he was playing it out to be. We find seats in the back of the bus, choosing not to sit next to the nice gentleman with the ferret in his jacket. We are facing the back of the bus, giving us a straight view of several adolescent boys dressed in the traditional bad boy garb. They had TROUBLE written on their foreheads. I was intrigued. As I watch them I notice one boy carving something into the window…with a pocket knife. I notice his friend is hunched over studying the back of the seat in front of him as if the manual for how to be a pimp could be found there. I assume that he was also carving his name. Another boy is jittery and anxious and he keeps looking around him and to the front of the bus. Whenever the bus stops and people readjust themselves, the kid would take the opportunity to scribble his name on the ceiling of the bus with a fat marker. This was all in the middle of the day. Needless to say Colin was not impressed. The wannabe gangsta children and the various other disconcerting characters on the bus did nothing but cement Colin’s antipathy for public transportation. Needless to say we took a taxi home.

The characters you find on the bus contribute significantly to your overall experience and many of your fellow riders can be categorized and judged.

People I dislike:

Old People: Old people make up the majority of the occupants on the 1, and although I generally love old people, it is a known fact that the older you get the more stubborn you become. The old people on the bus take stubbornness to another level. For many of the old people I come in contact with on the 1, it is safe to say that English is not their first language. Still, I am sure they have been living here longer than I have been alive and I know they understand the phrase “excuse me”. Please stop ignoring me, the sooner I get off the sooner you can find a spot to sit down at, and the sooner you can arrive at your destination. I really don’t like to shove old people because it just makes you grumpier but when I say excuse me and you do not respond, or even worse you block me from the exit, you leave me no other choice but to take physical action.
I know it’s the law that the front seats are reserved for the elderly or disabled but I think that the old people take advantage of it. This law only applies to the seats in the front. I try to not sit in those seats purely so I do not have to experience the wrath of the old people. But this law does not include the seats in the back, so old woman I don’t care how much you stare at me I am not going to get out of my seat in the back of the bus so that you can sit down. I may be a spritely young woman but I have a bag that equals my weight and shoes that may make my legs look sexy and long but make my feet feel like I am standing in a fiery pit of hell. So back off.

Swoopers: Swoopers range in age and size but they are extremely good at locating, targeting and acquiring seats, especially when you are hovering above a seat a person is about to give up and they knowingly swoop in between you and the seat, plopping themselves down without even pretending to acknowledge you. Old people are excellent swoopers.

Pre-teens: Since I have begun riding the bus during the day time I now have the unfortunate opportunity of riding the bus with pre-teens freshly released from school for the day. Pre-teens usually travel in packs and oddly enough, choose to sit at the front of the bus which is reserved for old people. This is unfortunate because every time the bus stops they take it as an opportunity to move around, slap their friends, steal their friends phones, etc, etc. This causes a bit of a traffic jam, and not wanting to be rude I take the first seat I see so as not to interfere with the pre-teen shenanigans. This gives me an overwhelming feeling of anxiety as I am well aware that the seat I am occupying is reserved for the elderly and disabled and I am not about to be yelled at by the bus driver to move back when an elderly person enters the bus.

The MUNI Public Service Officers: This term can be used to describe a great many occupants of public transit. It’s always fun finding out who these people turn out to be because, just as there is no strict physical profile of the Swoopers, the same can be said about the MUNI Public Service Officers. These citizens take public transportation extremely seriously. They are obviously veterans of public transportation, they know every stop on every route, and wrote the transportation etiquette handbook (they just haven’t published it). These are the people who yell at you to step down when you can’t figure out how to open the back door. These are the people who remind you that the front seats must be vacated when an elderly person gets on…while they remain seated in the aforementioned front seats. These are the people who give you bad looks when you bring on more than one bag. And finally, these are the people who, should you inquire about where your stop is, they will give you a detailed run down of not only the stop you want but how many feet you must travel to reach your final destination and what the best routes are for returning. Their terse remarks and backhanded helpful suggestions are not reserved purely for the passengers either. The main duty of these Public Service Officers is to make completely sure that the bus driver knows exactly what he or she is doing and that they know they are constantly being watched.
For example, this morning on my way to work the power for some of the buses went down. This caused many of the buses on the 1 route and several other routes to take a detour. This caused quite a commotion as you can assume, as many people were on their way to work. There was obviously a lack of communication as the bus driver and her MUNI assistant told people what was going on in Chinese and not in English. One woman, after several minutes of being delayed between Presidio and Geary (which is not the typical 1 route) decided to take it upon herself to tell the bus driver and her assistant that this delay was unacceptable. She then took an old woman under her wing (she definitely understood what was going on as she spoke Chinese) and used her as an example of the cruelty the bus driver was putting her under. Apparently this old lady had to go to work (I guess none of us had anywhere important to be); as to where our newly appointed Public Service Officer was going is still to be determined. PSO began a steady stream of criticism towards the bus driver about how this detour was completely unacceptable and that she (and the old woman) should be offered a reimbursement. Eventually the attendant kicked us all off the bus only to invite us back on several minutes later. By this time the PSO had left, leaving the old woman to fend for herself, which she seemed perfectly fine with.

People I like:

Cute Guys: It makes the trip go by that much faster. Enough said.

Tourists: Who doesn’t like hearing a whole family fight in German about where they were supposed to get off?

Passengers from the Haight: Endless entertainment, especially if you catch them on a Friday night.

There are many more characters I have not mentioned and many more adventures that are yet to come. I complain quite constantly about having to take public transportation as I am an extremely impatient person, but for all of its faults I feel very lucky to be living in a city with such great public transportation. I could only hope that anyone living in San Francisco has experienced San Francisco Public Transportation and feels likewise.