I am fairly sure I have spent a rather sizable chunk of my life on public transportation in San Francisco, better known as MUNI. SF is a town where having a car can be way more trouble than its worth. I rode it as a youth, and as a commuter when I lived there last. I have ridden almost every line at all hours of the day and night and been witness to such a cross section of humanity, that I should bee offered a sociology degree. I have seen folks with live chickens, folks trimming mole hairs, folks that smell like pee, yuppies, perverts, homeless… its just too big a list to make. I am also a freak magnet. That portly Armenian dude with the lazy eye and the diaper hinting out from the waist of his pants – oh, yeah – he’s not only going to sit next to me, he’s gonna wanna chat. For a while, I would try to repel the riders of Bellvue by out freaking them. It was an extension of a self defense technique I had adopted to ward off scary characters in scary neighborhoods. If you look scarier, bordering on insane, then folks tend to just leave you alone. This does not work with bus freaks. In fact it may make things worse. I tried everything, from the mundane: muttering under my breath, to the truly inventive: allowing a small section of string to dangle inexplicably from the corner of my mouth. It doesn’t work, though it was fun trying to come up with ideas. I have a lot of bus stories, but I humbly submit these three as a cross section of that wonderful soul vessel known simply as MUNI…

The Good.

It was a rather busy night for the 38 Geary line. I had just gotten off of the swing shift at the newspaper and was facing my regular walk through the tenderloin to Union Square to take this bus cross town all the way from the bay to the ocean. Its about a 45 min ride at midnight as there isn’t much traffic. Still, the busses were usually more empty at this time of night. I had paid my dollar and had just settled in to another long hour of staring absent-mindedly out the window. Something about the drone of those diesel engines an really hypnotize the tired worker bee. But despite the glaze over my eyes and the psychic coccoon I was weaving around myself, it always pays to keep at least half an eye out for the comings, goings and activities of your fellow riders. 
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