Inheritence

In the 1970s, my grandparents moved from Southern California to Concord. My grandpa worked at the Wells Fargo on Montgomery Street and took BART to work every day. I love the fact that forty years later, I sit on the same train, exit at the same station, and walk by that very same Wells Fargo (though I do not love the thought that I'm sitting on the same seats).

This weekend, my grandma was telling me about how my grandpa befriended the homeless people on his commute. He would always make time to say hello and talk to the regulars. If you ever had the pleasure of meeting my grandpa, you could just imagine him standing there, his hands clasped behind his back, smiling that slightly crooked smile that made his left eye squint a bit (I inherited that squint). There is no doubt in my mind that they looked forward to seeing him every day.

He befriended one lady in particular who hung out at the Montgomery Station. Apparently, she asked him if he could loan her twenty five dollars (not just spare change!) one day and he gladly did (be honest, would you?). She absolutely paid him back and gave him a letter thanking him for his kindness and generosity. My grandma still has that letter - I can't wait to read it.

Upon hearing this story, i instantly realized that was where my mom "got it." My mom is sweet and friendly with everyone. There's no such thing as a quick trip to the grocery store, because everyone, from the butcher to the bagger, knows her and wants to stop and chat. Same goes for a walk around the block - which she does with her hands clasped behind her back (makes my heart smile). She has always had a soft spot for the homeless, too. I remember she would see the man on the corner on the way into the store and she would come out with not only a sandwhich from the deli but a whole hot meal and give it to him. One time, she was visiting me in SLO. There was a sad, sad man who was a quadruple amputee. He had a chair that had a device rigged up so he could smoke cigars from a stand. He broke her heart and she gave what she thought was two fives to him. She later realized it was two twenties! She wasn't upset though - she laughed about it.

Right now, I'm not in the financial situation to be generous with money with every homeless person I encounter. I am, however, in a situation to be generous in spirit. I'm going to take a page from the family book and smile, converse, and make eye contact with the regulars on my commute.

Intercepted

I was just about to record this awesome hippie mother-daughter duo dancing to street music in front of the Powell Street BART station. Right as I hit record, this (presumably) homeless man beelined over to me and grabbed my hand (to shake it). He then looked at me and started talking, but his voice was sooo low that he was basically mouthing the words. He was staring very intently at me.

And then the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

This isn't a default reaction of mine, but there was something telling me to take my hand and get the hell out of there.

So that's what I did.

Maybe I'm paranoid or maybe I'm just getting street savy. Usually, my interactions with the homeless in San Francisco don't freak me out. But there was something about the way he was looking at me and mouthing words that made my skin crawl.

No video though, as soon as I saw him comung I zipped my phone into my bag. Thankfully, both my wallet and phone are still in there.

Ay ay ay

On the train home the other day, a twenty-something woman was reading a book the equivalent of The Babysitter's Club aloud to her adult companion.  When she finished the chapter, she began telling stories (very loudly) about when her mom and dad were on crack. Something about how she knew her dad was on crack when he was laughing at a show on the Disney channel!  Then, she jumped into a story of how detectives with trench coats ("just like Law & Order") came to her house to ask about a robbery and she had eight nice rings on her fingers.  She freaked out because it made her look really guilty. 

Not sure what to make of her stories.  If they're true, then whoa.

It's been a while

It's been a while since I came across a REAL BART crazy. The other day, a man with a set of teeth that numbered in the single digits was sitting in the corner of the train singing loud. He then got up and walked to the center of the train and proclaimed "this here is God's country, it ain't no Fool's shit." Then he began laughing hysterically. As he walked over and into the other car, he got in a shouting match with a woman sitting there (couldn't quite hear the content of their conversation, but I'm willing to bet they're feuding BART regulars).