Adventures in Public Transit

1. »
   07 December 2011 · 09:59 PM

   I’m dusting off this blog to tell you…

   THIS BUS STINKS SO HARD RIGHT NOW.

   Seriously Muni???

2. »
   23 April 2011 · 05:40 PM

   Abroad

   I recently returned from a trip overseas and do you know what? THEIR PUBLIC TRANSIT SYSTEMS ARE KICK ASS. it gives a wait time and if it says 6 minutes, the bus actually arrives in 6 minutes! They few times I experienced a delay (um once?) there was a delightful announcement over the loud speaker explaining what was going on/apologizing profusely for any trouble the delay caused. Amazing.

   Also the buses were extremely clean, no signs of graffiti or any other vandalism anywhere. So to that I say: America(SANFRANCISCO) get your public transit systems together. Europe is shutting it down and has the transit system on lock.

3. »
   08 April 2010 · 02:42 AM

   5 minutes=15 minutes

   hey bus!

   when you post arrival times online could you do me a huge favor and make sure that the bus drivers sync up with them please. I ran out of the house with 5 min. to catch my bus, and waited an additional 15 at my stop. I could have slept a few extra minutes bus driver! I could have ate that bagel I wanted to toast please! I could have ironed the pants I wanted to wear, but silly me going by your route predictions I am sitting here at the bus stop, wrinkled, hungry and looking like a fool. Get it together nextbus.com!

4. »
   15 February 2010 · 09:39 AM

   B is for…

   in honor of that lovely little B train that i take all the time, i’m going to start a series of posts enumerating all of those things for which “B” must clearly stand.

   so, for my first post on this topic: B is for Bedroom Eyes.

   
   

   after working all evening dressed like barbie (it was valentine’s day, hot pink was warranted), i walked on over to the B train to head home. apparently, one of the patrons of my lovely restaurant did, as well. ok, ok… so we ride the same train, no big deal.

   in the train station. in my barbie-attire, plus coat and ipod, i’m looking longingly (note: impatiently) down the tunnel. peripheral vision: it seems as though i’m being watched (note: stared at INTENTLY). i do the “oh i’m just looking around at everyone don’t mind me” thing to see if this gentleman 5 feet away actually is staring at me.

   BAM: BEDROOM EYES.

   not just looking at me, oh no. full on bedroomy and intense stare. i pretend i haven’t noticed him or anything else, and continue my looking around and looking longingly (note: now more impatiently) down the tunnel. no train coming.

   3 minutes pass. sir is in my peripheral vision, still. has not moved a muscle, not even those creepy muscles that make bedroom eyes in public. what. the. fuck.

   a train approaches. ooooh yes is this a B train?!?! pulls closer. no. E. dammit. bedroom eyes continue in my peripheral. then all of a sudden: “excuse me, does the B train come through here?”

   1. i am not the only person in this 5 foot radius.
   

   2. i am listening to an ipod… others are not. i cannot (or, pretend i cannot) hear you.
   

   3. i am not the friendliest looking person at the moment (note: earlier impatience).
   

   4. there are signs E-V-E-R-Y-W-H-E-R-E.

   “huh?” (one earbud out)  “does the B train come through here?”  “yep.” (earbud back in, and i turn back around.)

   reflection in the windows of that E train: he is shocked and sorely disappointed.

   E train leaves. i return to looking longingly (note: omg train get here or i will kill you) down the tunnel. senor composes himself, and RESUMES BEDROOM EYES (verified by more apparently-aimless looking around). oh my god a B train. get. me. home.

   sunday night, single-car (as opposed to the usually dual-car) train, PACKED. i’m standing aside to let some people off, and i see one leaving from a hidden-away seat. i make a b-line (haha, GET IT?!) for it. gentleman caller has lost me in the crowd. OR SO I THINK.

   a small break in the crowded train. and here we are: bedroom eyes continue. i pretend to be very excited/flattered/in-love (valentine’s day and i’m dressed up… logic = boyfriend?) while reading text messages (note: anni and nycala’s responses to my frantic, WTF BEDROOM EYES texts).

   20 minutes of intense bedroom eyes, 20 minutes of me giving my blackberry bedroom eyes as defense strategy. a final attempt: sir is stepping over to talk to me just before his stop. DEATH STARE. aaaaaaand, he leaves.

   awkward.

5. »
   04 February 2010 · 11:34 PM

   You know whats not fun at all?

   getting coughed on by a rude man while riding the bus.

   Sir, keep your germs to yourself.

   I motioned for him to cover his mouth, but he only spoke crackhead so he didn’t get what I was trying to say. Then he just looked at me like I was crazy and started rambling something.

   at that point I grabbed my bag and moved the party to the back of the bus.

   Gnarly.

   I think tomorrow I am going to get one of those Burberry SARS masks and start wearing that bad boy like its 2004.

   gross. rude. muni.

6. »
   03 February 2010 · 10:45 PM

   

   I don’t know what these other girls mean when they say their buses don’t stop. Boston’s stop 2 at a time.

   Way to block traffic, mbta. Way to go.

7. »
   02 February 2010 · 11:22 PM

   adventures on the muni.

   itsnotthatserious:

   i hate the bus. hate it hate it hate. every time i ride on it, something crazy happens. today was no exception.

   i hop up on the bus, pull out my book, and begin my 35 minute commute to candace’s house. about 2 stops in, these high school babies get on. i call them “paper heart”. the girl is a small asian, in neon green eyeshadow, matching green sweater, and two tones black and bleached out orange hair. her “man” (the michael cera to this equation) i initially thought was gay. he had black nailpolish, swoopy greasy hair, and a striped hoodie with a scarf and those hipster cross over back things. anyway, they sit right in front of me and i’m like “damn, i have to listen to paperheart banter this whole commute”. little did i know…

   so first they are chatting about how MC (michael cera) can get rid of his constant erection. TA (tiny asian) suggests that he picture a large naked man. now i’m thinking that this just will not work, considering he loves the peen. apparently this does work, since he pictures his hairy fat friend with silver dollar nipples, and his boner goes away. okay. so then he grabs her hand, and they start cupcaking. now i’m confused. is he a gay? bi? confused? siblings? what the hell is going on? MC decided to take this hand embrace another step further, and starts kissing, caressing, and LICKING her hand. at that moment TA says “thats what my dad used to do”. EXCUSE ME WHAT?????

   MC immediately stops, and looks at her and she says “you know, a figure 8 instead of a u turn! u turns are illegal so he makes a figure 8 turn”. now i see what’s going on. TA won’t shut up. she’s talking about climbing up buildings and sitting on the roof. she’s talking about how the paint on this red car reminds her of candy apples and carmel apples with nuts are her favorite. she asks MC if he has ever peed outside. he starts to answer and she cuts him off to say “i have! i peed in a restaurant, right out in the front!” MC just laughs it off and calls her an iconoclast. she, of course, has no idea what this means, and points out that “UPS spells UPS! or PUS! or SUP! i like changing words up to spell different things”.

   Cut to me, trying to remember every word of this crazy so i can blog it. suddenly an older filipino man with no teeth and 2 inch eyebrow hairs sitting behind me asks “you dance?” i was like, uhhhhh and he goes “your shoes! you dance?” i was wearing my puma ballet flats, so finally my brain connect that he didn’t think i was a stripper but a ballerina. “i used to” i replied. “you dance! i knew it!” he said. “you still dance? at night?”  and i realized he again didn’t mean stripping and was asking if i do salsa dancing. “yeah, sometimes i do salsa” i said. “OHHHH! I DANCE TOO!” his toothless grin lit up. “you should dance at mariposa!” mariposa is the hood. no thank you, toothless man. i just kind of laughed it off and said oh, okay. so then he asks the question of the hour.

   “you like to fuck with engineers?”

   excuse me WHAT? do i like to FUCK? with engineers? this bus is unreal. i just laughed it off and said no no no. he goes “oooh. well i would like to dance with you.” and he jumped off the bus! that’s it! maybe i would like to go on a respectable dinner date with an engineer. maybe i would like drinks, even a little dancing. but the toothless filipino? i can’t be bothered.

   cut back to paper heart. at this point she’s still pointing out the flowers and the trees, and talking about pierced ears and i think poor michael cera just had enough of her running her mouth. he gets this look in his beady little eye and i know its about to go down. he turns his head, grabs hers with both hands AND MOUNTS HER ON THE BUS! she is sitting directly in front of me so i get a full frontal view of his tongue in her mouth. never in my life have i seen such sexual frustration so close up! i’m looking around for someone to share the horror with and NO ONE is around. so i lean into the window and crack up silently to myself. after about 3 minutes he gets off her, and she immediately says “remember when we first hung out and you walked to the window to let in air? that was fun”…..

   people. this day is BANANAS. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

   its not just me people. Crazy shizz goes down on the bus everyday.

   sf muni. 38 Geary

8. »
   01 February 2010 · 02:10 AM

   

   oh, the secret hilarity one experiences at the expense of public transit characters.

   boston is a funny little city. i live in an interesting little part of town.

   so, i work in the south end. i live in brighton. for those of you who don’t know, this means i take the [green] b line train, through allston village, to get to and from work. also for those of you who don’t know, allston is where the hipsters live.* so my commute is rather, how shall i say, colorful. really, what else can you expect on a train where 90% of people are between 18-30? (quote from megan’s first 5 minutes on the T: “oh my god, why is everyone the SAME AGE??)

   to the point: today was a rather colorful day. and i have a few, ahem, little notes for a few particular T passengers. here we go:

   1. to the lovely gentleman with the blonde dreadlocks: i must admit, at first glance you seemed quite the attractive (albeit mildly unsanitary) fellow. however, upon a second and closer look: i’m so sorry, sir, but you look like jesus. and not just any jesus: creepy jesus. creepy dreadlocked jesus. work on that.

   2. to the gentleman in white-rimmed hipster sunglasses: first, it is dark outside. second, i think even the hipsters are growing out of the ironic moustache phase… keep up! third, i apologize if it seemed like i was having a sneezing/coughing fit for the duration of your train ride…i was merely trying to suppress my laughter. few people can make me suddenly and unintentionally laugh every time (every. single. time.) i look at them. kudos.

   3. to the BU student in moccasins and leggings: many people have mistaken leggings for pants, so i understand a bit of confusion. however, your ankle/ass ratio (tiiiiiiny/laaaarge) makes this completely unacceptable. leggings were not made for you, my dear.

   4. today’s winner… to the girl wearing the pink/purple nikes: let me see if i can recall everything that was (fashionably and otherwise) offensive about your appearance on the train this evening. -aforementioned nikes-huge neon rainbow leopard print scarf-pink plaid phone cover-fuzzy pink leopard print bag-hot pink hello kitty bag-taking up 2 seats with aforementioned bags-horrible fake nails-white studded belt with pink splatter pattern-grimacing at everyone-playing with your tongue ring (yes, outside your mouth) in public. i have two words for you: NOT OKAY.

   ok. venting done. love, carolyn.

   *there is much secret hilarity involved regarding the allston hipsters shared with nycala on bbm, including their rebellion (rocks through windows and profane language in spray paint) against the new urban outfitters in town (*gasp* because what respectable hipster would actually shop there??). however, i shall not enumerate all of these tales here.

   creepers leggings which are most certainly not pants worst life decisions ever mbta

9. »
   29 January 2010 · 02:28 AM

   Bus.Stop.

   I was standing with about 15 people on the side of the road waiting for the (dirty) 30 bus to come and pick me up.

   and do you know what?

   the bus didn’t make any sort of attempt to pull over or stop to let us on/let people off. It gassed it into the Stockton Tunnel and left me puzzled on the side of the road.

   HELLO…bus STOP. you are a bus. I am at a bus stop. You should be stopping for me…so rude.

   I would like a ride please mr. busdriver. Sorry I know you must have been running late, or had something really important to do besides stop and pick me up its cool. My pride just is a bit injured. Nothing hurts like public transit rejection. I have been left behind at a bus stop before and it always makes me feel like a bum. Man, did a bus just roll right by me and refuse to stop without a second glance? Yep it did. One time 3 buses…I swear it was 3, rolled by me at a stop. True I had a massive suitcase with me but what gives!

   Sometimes I think I should use the 60 bucks a month I spend on bus fare and put it up towards a fancy bicycle or vespa. Then i’d never be stranded again.

   -Candace

   Let me on the bus NOW. San Francisco. 30 bus of Death.

10. »
    28 January 2010 · 02:20 AM

    

    dear translink,

    isnt the purpose of having a timetable to STICK TO IT? I mean, people have schedules, jobs, school etc and often have to be somewhere by a certain time. if you do not intend on sticking to a schedule, please do not post it.

    today: typically I catch the 16 @ 8:49am, sometimes it comes about 8:53 and I let that slide [4 min, no biggie] but today, I stroll up and see the 8:39 pullin away at 8:44.  ok, we’re a runnin a little behind, good to know, so we wait…

    8:50 rolls around, no bus…

    8:55, no bus…

    I dont have time for this [cross street to get the 17]

    9:04 no 17 and STILL no 16…

    waiting…

    9:08…eh, hem I am typically at school by now…

    9:11 oh heeeeey 17 arrives

    (please note the 16 is now 30 min late - what, is it in a ditch??!)

    ok, things are lookin up! I am finally on a bus heading downtown…

    wait, I spoke too soon…

    chinese woman  flags down driver to ask a question. thats right, not get ON the bus, but ask a QUESTION (and in broken english I might add) “you 10 go south?” “ma’am this is north” “10 go south?” “ma’am the 10 is on howe this street goes north” “need to go south”

    omg, WOMAN a) I am late b) before you ask a question please consult a compass. this is a one way street that is obviously pointed north - mountains see, those are north c) please speak english, correctly

    translink, I hate you.

    sincerely, nyc

    translink death to the 16