Fare or Fair

In a fare strike, passengers ride the bus, but do not pay the fare.

Nobody has to do anything they don't normally do. Ride the bus wherever you normally go, just like you do every day. But, when you get on, don't pay.

The object of a fare strike is to convince Muni that they are going to lose more money because of the fare strike than they are going to gain by raising the fare and cutting service. This is entirely possible if enough people, over time, participate in the fare strike.

Get on the bus anyway you can. Go in the front door or the back door, whatever feels right to you. Don't cause a scene. Just don't pay.

Whatever you do, be polite to the driver. They are not the enemy. They have a very difficult and stressful job. Fare hikes, service cuts and layoffs make their job more difficult. Many, if not most, of the drivers are sympathetic to our efforts. Together, riders and drivers united, we can win.

It is Muni policy that the drivers should ask you to pay the fare, but just drive on if you don't pay and don't cause a scene. The reason for this policy is that the whole system would come to a halt if busses didn't move everytime somebody didn't pay. Muni is a big system, and some individual drivers may act outside of Muni policy. But most will obey the policy and drive on when you don't pay, because that is exactly what they are supposed to do.

Muni does have a few fare inspectors that may ask for proof of payment. Muni has not hired new fare inspectors in response to our strike. They already have too few fare inspectors to adequately police the system. If you are approached by a Muni fare inspector, again, be polite. They are just doing their job. Walk away from them if you can, again without causing a scene. If you get a ticket, get in touch with our legal team. They will do everything they can to make tickets go away. Click here for more information on our legal team.

Remember, a fare strike is very simple. Ride the bus like you always do. Just don't pay.

To Miss it Is to have Loved It

Taking the 22 last Saturday night at 3:30 am, there was a woman sitting next me who was talking to herself. The way she said 'bitch' was beyond compare. Only a lifetime of practice leads to such results.

-Prawnpie

Saturday, 6:30 p.m., Union Fillmore - Church Market

Haunched over carrying a bag of books and two grocery bags that are soft and crumpled from repeated use, he boards.

"Are you Chinese?!" he asks the driver, loud enough to be asking the whole bus.
"No sir, I am not," the driver responds.
"Well then, I can't help you! I am a Chinese professor, but I cannot help you if you don't speak Chinese."

Two stops later he is standing at the yellow line.
"Nihaoma," says the professor.
"Ching ting toooww," responds the driver.
"Nihaoma," repeats the professor.
"Jing tee wooo," says the driver, laughing.
My cheeks flare.
"Nihaoma! It means 'How are you?' It is Mandarin. I taught you last week!"
"Oh yah, I've had you before," says the driver. "Nee-hey-moa."

Friday Night White

From the Poynter Institute for Journalists,

"Journalists need to challenge the presence of racial identifiers and could even help the public talk more openly and directly about race..."

This is an apology.
I am as guilty as big, over-sized grandma underwear under a little black dress on a Friday night because I want to make sure I don't go home with my date. I, like so many others, writers and thinkers of the world at small alike, have decided to pretend that race does not exist. (Which for the record it doesn't, it is a social construct) We delude ourselves under the notion that we are color blind, which is really just a PC way of saying blind.

So, I'm gonna talk about race from now on 'cause the 22 is one world, two classes and four wheels.

Friday, 8:35 p.m., Union Fillmore - Fillmore Oak

Friday night, leaving the Marina, the Deuce Deuce is packed with more white people than one will see at any other time.

Why?

Reason 1 - Heels. The three stretch mountain is no place for bejeweled 4" Louis V's to be treading.

Reason 2 - Booze. Five guys, striped shirts, torn jeans, shiny shoes, token Dad watch, board the bus. One uses a pole like a stripper.
"I'm gonna get fucked tonight."
"Yeah it's that kind of night."
"Fucked up is not the same as fucked."
"Not if you're a girl."
Laughing ensues.

At Fillmore and Jackson - thousands of dollars of heels step down.

By California, a parade of alabaster bro's exit checking their iPhones again for no missed calls.

Saturday, 7:15 p.m., Union Fillmore - Fillmore Hayes

Just another creeper story.

He sits next to me and he smells like outside, like a boy playing in fallen leaves all day, sweat and wind, but he's a man. His jeans have a a dirty sheen to them, but he looks like any white guy U.S.A.

He sits with his legs a little apart. At the next stop his legs are a little farther apart and his knee is touching mine.

It's the bus, I left my body bubble when I took my transfer, but there really is no need for us to be touching knees - so I move away a bit.

He does this shift like he's adjusting his jacket and his knee is up against mine again. With each progressive stop his legs get a little wider and a little wider, my face is smashed against grafitti, until I, "Seriously, dude."

He looks at me.

"If you get any closer to me I am going to be out the window."

He jumps up and exits.

Three blocks later I look out the window and he is walking the sidewalk along with the bus and looking back in the window right at me.

I flip him off, which the Mexican kitchen worker to my right, wrongly interprets as meant for him, but I don't bother to explain.

-photo compliments of eviloars

Thursday, 8:30 a.m., Haight Fillmore - Union Fillmore

Three women, all toting Louis Vuitton bags, are discussing, complaining, about the new $2.00 bus fare and my life-long search for irony is now over.




-photo compliments of epugachev