Sunday, November 22, 2009

Damn Skippy

My posting “Fare or Fair” was sent to me by a reader with a note that said 'this was a part of an effort over ten years ago.' The reader was astonished in looking over it how the problems that were occurring then are still the problems that are occurring now and that he was surprised how one could not decipher without knowing the date that this information was ten years old. To me, interesting.


Am I calling for a fare strike? No.
Would I call for a fare strike? Sure.
Does a fare strike solve anything?
Yes it does.


Is a fare strike timely? Granted we have just been hit with an increased fare strike, another may well be on the way, but that matters not to me. Just because I pay my two dollars every day since July does not urge me onto any platform of acceptance.


I spent the summer abroad in London, Spain, Italy and other drool-inducing countries. I paid much more than equivalent of two dollars for transit nearly every day. But, I got what I paid for. Think of the concept of “priced to sell.” Apple loves this concept. A MacBook costs somewhere in the range of say $1400 and is expected to last with excellent care about four to five years. Apple could very well make a laptop that lasts longer, but it would cost $4000 and no one would buy it. So, we accept in our purchase that balance, that what we are getting is a mediocre product appropriately priced for its service. When I board the underground in Barcelona for five Euro I know it is going to be clean, it will arrive quickly usually under five minutes, it will be right on time, get me to my destination on time and be a safe ride. Muni is dirty, late, slow, inconvenient and dangerous. Point being, given the economics of transit, San Francisco is one area where one does not get what they pay for.


Secondly, I do not believe in fare increases in the same way that I do not believe in sin taxes. Simply, it scrapes the people in the lowest bracket of income. Big tobacco takes a lot of heat for how much profit it makes from selling cigarettes. But, about fifty percent of a pack goes to the government; that is, hello, the government is profiting big off of tobacco. And no one seems to mind either that they profit from Muni - what should and could otherwise be a public service. It is not functional and otherwise crappy to save our system through means of our poorest citizens.


Is fare evasion why we are in this mess? Is it all the little mongrels that I see jump in the back door at Haight and Fillmore every morning? I will give that argument the benefit of the doubt. But, I still say, don’t pay.


Because…


Not everyone runs a blog. Not everyone is running for political office. Not everyone has the educational opportunities, the agency, the time, the confidence, the fortitude to write something, organize something, say something or do something. Fare strikes are a uniting means of passive protest. They will not solve the Muni problems, but they are a way of focusing attention where attention ought be focused on an unfair fare.

Postsecret bus secretZ

Everyone has a secret

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Another Muni Fight

Ew!

Bloodlust


Friday, 8:40 a.m., 16th Mission - Union Fillmore


She sat on the steps and said, "I don't understand what is with the bloodlust."


Bus #1 - Four early teens are running down the street. "Stop the bus!! Let us On!" They board.

"Aw, man. I can't believe that! She messed her up good."

Three others are running and the four aboard go to the windows to make fun of them.

"What was with that bitch, all she did was say "Scuse me, can you move back?""

"But, in her defense, she did have a baby in her arms and like six kids with her. She kinda couldn't move back."

"But you don't gotta freak out like that. You can't move back then you just say you can't move back. She wouldda freaked out on me like that I woulda killed a bitch."


Bus #2 - "This woman with like a baby in her arms and then this other chick like wanted her to move back and I don't know. I don't know. I can't take it anymore. I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't know how I'm gonna get to work, but I'm over it. I'm just over it. She was like, 'You mess with me I got a baby in my arms.' And I'm all like, "Yeah, awesome Mom, you're fuckin' fighting, literally fighting like pulling hair, while you're holding your baby and all of your other kids are like looking at you fucking frightened. And the little Mexican ladies were freaked. They were like terrified. Yeah, she like messed with her hair and shoved her off the bus. I can't handle it anymore. I'm so over it."


Bus #1 - Three more board. "I didn't think you was gonna catch up!" "Man that was awesome. She messed that girl up! The rest of them didn't make it - they gonna be late."


Bus #3 - "There was a fight and I had to wait for another bus. And I just posted a comment on YouTube about another fight. I don't understand why people are so into it. People on the next bus were all 'Man, I wish I would have been on that bus. I wanna see a fight."

The Spark that Started a Fire That Bore a Blog


Thursday, 3 p.m., Union Fillmore - Haight Fillmore

It was one of those days that you just wanted to shit in your pants and walk around in it.
I boarded.

School had just let out and it was loud. Monsters, jacked-up on sugar and hormones had taken over the back third of the bus. They were like bouncy balls in a circular room, and let's just be honest, they are fucking LOUD. The Deuce Deuce can serve as a daily exercise in meditation. It is so easy there on a mat, in a studio with serene clouds painted on the ceiling, to keep it cool - so easy to swim when the waters are calm.
The noise from the rear is all-consuming, the way sometimes I can only hear squeaking shoes when I watch a basketball game.
I stretch my neck left, then right. I close my eyes and breathe deep.
"FUCK YOU you Fuckin' Busted Ass Whore!"
Inhale, Exhale.
"You the slUt, Ho!"
Inhale, Exhale.
At Geary it gets crowded, it gets sardines.
An elderly man, nearly a foot shorter than me is nestled in, his head pretty much in my armpit.
A pushing match ensues. It's like a PCP Red Bull MTV Spring Break South of the Border Dog fight back there.
I close my eyes.
"AHHHHHHHHHH, Don't grab my titty you busted-ass motherfucker!"
I open my eyes and lay my head back and begin an internal mantra of, "I sold my car for the right reason. I sold my car for the right reason. Not having a car is an ethical choice. Not having a car is an ethical choice. I love this city. I love diversity. I love this city. I love diversity."
And then, I get chucked.
"Move BITCH. This is our stop!"
I get pushed and knock over the little old man I was essentially coddling, who falls to the ground.
I'm helping him up, one of the girls steps on his ankle as they pile over us, pushing through the crowd to the door. My stop too.
I step down.
"Dumb Bitch! Don't just stand there like nobody got any place to go but you!"
And I, my bad, but I, "DO YOU EVER SHUT THE FUCK UP?!"
And what ensued, what was said, we will never know. It was three teenage, female, hyennas and it sounded like, !@%$@^Y&$EHFG$%$ Of FUCKetfwekfnwefwe BITCH worqjwor ME GUNNA fwieohf49hwekrjker9ef I'm about to slap this fuckin'2rf 35r9wrfyhwei9rfw9efjsdofjsdlfjsd!!!!!!!!!!
I started to walk. They followed me.
"I'm gonna get my brother to fucking kill you!"
They followed me for four blocks spouting equally eloquent comments until one said, "Oh you wanna know if I ever shut the fuck up well..."
And I spun around, "NO! I know the answer. It's 'No,' you never shut the fuck up. You haven't shut up since Union Street - so I have my answer, the answer is 'No.' Now go home."
"We are goin' home."
"Oh, awesome. We're neighbors. This way it'll be easier for your brother to kill me. Awesome."
I turned, they turned. I could hear them fade into the distance planning my demise.

I could have stopped riding, but instead I started writing.
-photo compliments of eviloars

Saturday, 9:00 a.m., Haight - Fillmore - Union Fillmore

Sometimes with my headphones up, I will Nestea plunge into a song so whole-heartedly that everything around me seems to move synchronistically and make intrinsic sense the way an anteater's snout is made for eating ants - a choreographed dance of chaos.
I swear if one person had given me a smile I would have sprung from my seat, dipped them back low and laid one on them, rattling beautiful nonsense like, "I know! I know! Going to a dead-end job never felt so good!"
You see, I simply couldn't take my headphones down to hear what was going on on the Deuce Deuce today because this is what was going on for me.

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