The other day I missed the ferry, and rather than drive and waste precious juice, I decided to take the bus. I normally avoid these metal beasts, since they deprive me of all the things I like about driving (privacy, playing the stereo, feeling the wind rushing by), and often subject me to all the things I dislike about driving (traffic) and pubic transit (crowding.)
But this particular day, as it was well past heavy commute hours, I figured it wouldn't be too bad. But I forgot the other thing I dislike about the bus - the high probability of encountering a human train wreck.
One stop after mine, the bus pulled into the Central San Rafael Terminal, on its way southbound to downtown San Francisco. A small number of commuters and a few seniors piled in. One driver got off, a new one got on, and took a minute or two to settle in.
Pound, pound, pound!
"Hold on," says the driver. "I'm not leaving without you."
He opens the door, and from somewhere below comes a barely intelligible, slurred query:
"Do you go to Redwood City?"
"No ma'am," says the driver, "I don't even know where Redwood City is, I just moved here."
(For those unfamiliar with the SF Bay Area, a map.)
"Well I need to get to Redwood City I'm from Santa Rosa and I left last night to see my fiance in Redwood City but I never made it. Does this work?"
"No maa'm, you need $43.35 fare."
"But this is my card, this my SamTrans card, this is good."
"I don't know what SamTrans is, 'ma'am, but this that card won't work on this bus."
This went on for a few minutes. From behind me I heard murmurs and grumbles form the other passengers, increasing in volume.
Finally, a foolishly helpful senior citizen in the front row piped up, "Oh, she can take the N-Judah from the Civic Center and catch CalTrain from there to Redwood City."
From the woman: "The wuh?"
The driver, now aware he was five plus minutes late, relented. "Okay, come on board."
A strange squeak, a crash, and "Oh! Owwww! Owwww! My head, my head!"
The driver rushed off the bus to help the woman, and I followed to assist. I finally got a good look, and it wasn't a pretty picture. She was wearing flip-flops, a silver crop top, and black lace panties. She appeared to be in her late 50s, though it's difficult to say for certain - I've seen 30 year old speed freaks in San Francisco who look like they are pushing 60, too. Reaching over to help her up, I caught a full blast of gin breath, burning my nostrils. The bus driver had to turn his head while we got her up.
I looked for blood while the bus driver asked her if she was alright, but it looked like the various shopping bags and purses she carried had broken the fall. The driver asked her repeatedly, hopefully, if she needed medical attention, but she refused.
"Please, I need to get to Redwood City!" she practically screamed.
The driver looked at me, and I guess I was telegraphing the "Are you fucking kidding me?" look.
"I can't refuse her a ride," he said. We helped her onto the bus, and I settled in.
The woman spent the next twenty minutes searching for change to pay her fare, thanking us for helping her, and asking repeatedly what city we had just left.
"Is this Redwood City?"
"No."
"But we're almost there?"
"No."
I wondered how this person would ever make it to Redwood City in their current condition, and how she might be subtly nudged toward the authorities. Apparently somebody on the bus had the same thought, because at the next stop, we found a couple of sheriff's deputies waiting for us. They talked to her for about ten minutes, when she could no longer form coherent sentences it seemed to be enough for them. One took her bags while the other convinced her to come along. The last we saw of the woman, she was crawling across the pavement towards her assembled possessions, sobbing, while the deputies tried to get her to stand up.
Yeah.
Gotta go. Gotta catch the ferry.
But this particular day, as it was well past heavy commute hours, I figured it wouldn't be too bad. But I forgot the other thing I dislike about the bus - the high probability of encountering a human train wreck.
One stop after mine, the bus pulled into the Central San Rafael Terminal, on its way southbound to downtown San Francisco. A small number of commuters and a few seniors piled in. One driver got off, a new one got on, and took a minute or two to settle in.
Pound, pound, pound!
"Hold on," says the driver. "I'm not leaving without you."
He opens the door, and from somewhere below comes a barely intelligible, slurred query:
"Do you go to Redwood City?"
"No ma'am," says the driver, "I don't even know where Redwood City is, I just moved here."
(For those unfamiliar with the SF Bay Area, a map.)
"Well I need to get to Redwood City I'm from Santa Rosa and I left last night to see my fiance in Redwood City but I never made it. Does this work?"
"No maa'm, you need $43.35 fare."
"But this is my card, this my SamTrans card, this is good."
"I don't know what SamTrans is, 'ma'am, but this that card won't work on this bus."
This went on for a few minutes. From behind me I heard murmurs and grumbles form the other passengers, increasing in volume.
Finally, a foolishly helpful senior citizen in the front row piped up, "Oh, she can take the N-Judah from the Civic Center and catch CalTrain from there to Redwood City."
From the woman: "The wuh?"
The driver, now aware he was five plus minutes late, relented. "Okay, come on board."
A strange squeak, a crash, and "Oh! Owwww! Owwww! My head, my head!"
The driver rushed off the bus to help the woman, and I followed to assist. I finally got a good look, and it wasn't a pretty picture. She was wearing flip-flops, a silver crop top, and black lace panties. She appeared to be in her late 50s, though it's difficult to say for certain - I've seen 30 year old speed freaks in San Francisco who look like they are pushing 60, too. Reaching over to help her up, I caught a full blast of gin breath, burning my nostrils. The bus driver had to turn his head while we got her up.
I looked for blood while the bus driver asked her if she was alright, but it looked like the various shopping bags and purses she carried had broken the fall. The driver asked her repeatedly, hopefully, if she needed medical attention, but she refused.
"Please, I need to get to Redwood City!" she practically screamed.
The driver looked at me, and I guess I was telegraphing the "Are you fucking kidding me?" look.
"I can't refuse her a ride," he said. We helped her onto the bus, and I settled in.
The woman spent the next twenty minutes searching for change to pay her fare, thanking us for helping her, and asking repeatedly what city we had just left.
"Is this Redwood City?"
"No."
"But we're almost there?"
"No."
I wondered how this person would ever make it to Redwood City in their current condition, and how she might be subtly nudged toward the authorities. Apparently somebody on the bus had the same thought, because at the next stop, we found a couple of sheriff's deputies waiting for us. They talked to her for about ten minutes, when she could no longer form coherent sentences it seemed to be enough for them. One took her bags while the other convinced her to come along. The last we saw of the woman, she was crawling across the pavement towards her assembled possessions, sobbing, while the deputies tried to get her to stand up.
Yeah.
Gotta go. Gotta catch the ferry.
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I was actually THINKING of that photo when I was posting.
Creeeepy.