by Bruce Anderson
A friend commented: “I sometimes walk six miles to avoid taking Muni.” Me too, depending on how my legs feel, I sometimes walk six miles west all the way to 7th Avenue rather than board a packed Muni, on a hot day, not that I ever click my heels in anticipation of the experience.

Muni is often unpleasant in ways large and small, from buses with windows blacked out with advertising so passengers can’t see out (which says it all about management’s regard for its customers), to the constant mechanized voice reminders to “hold on,” to feral co-passengers, to drivers who range from the verifiably insane to the merely rude and stupid to the saintly.I’ve experienced the entire Muni gambit, from irritating to frightening. A minor encounter one afternoon at the foot of Market Street is illustrative of the irritating end of the spectrum.I’d been at the ballpark, then into the Ferry Building for a post-game cup of Peets and an hour of people watching on a bench outside, confirming my opinion that a national dress code was long overdue. I crossed the Embarcadero to Market where, as I approached, I was happy to see the 2 Clement at the bus stop, just sitting there with its door open, its engine idling, its driver, a portly white man, at the wheel. All for me!, I silently exulted, a gift from the public transit gods! I bounded up the buses’ three steps, flashing my wife’s senior pass at the driver, who half rose out of his driver’s seat and yelled virtually in my face, “Out of service! Get off. Can’t you see I’m out of service?”Of course. Silly me. A bus idling at a bus stop with its door open and its uniformed driver at the wheel? What else could it be but out of service?I suggested, politely, in my best calming, therapeutic voice I keep ready for encounters with psychos, “Why don’t you close the door if you’re out of service?” The driver, mute, looked straight ahead.I dismounted. A black female driver appeared. The psycho driver got out of his out of service bus without looking at me. I fought off the temptation to remind him that fat guys are supposed to be happy.The new driver welcomed me. “You can sit down on the bus if you want, but I can’t leave for another 15 minutes because of the schedule.” I thanked her and got back on, so pleased with her graciousness I wrote down the bus number and called in a commendation to the bus barn headquarters on Presidio.A kindly sounding woman answered the phone. I explained that “driver number 2413 was very nice, but before her, male driver 1435, asked me if he could see my private parts. I’m a senior citizen from Mendocino County, and we don’t do that kind of thing in my home town of Boonville. I thought I should report him because I doubt Muni wants perverts driving its buses.”The lady on the other end of the line paused before she said, “We’ll make a note of that, sir. Thank you for calling.”10/9/2024   
itsdougholland.com
← PREVIOUS          NEXT →