Last week, I needed to get blood drawn before work, so I took the early BART train to the Powell Street station. While I was walking through the Powell Street station, I noticed five police officers and a stretcher. What was going on!? I then heard someone screaming very loudly. As I approached the exit, I saw a homeless man who had passed out on the floor of the BART station. He was obviously very inebriated, because as they tried to wake him up, he started screaming. Three of the five officers stood there chit-chatting while two tried to get the man to wake up (apparently this was not an unusual circumstance for them!). The officers were very gentle (they weren't even touching him) but you would have thought they were manhandling him from his wailing.
It instantly reminded me of one Sunday afternoon when Mike and I ate lunch in Morro Bay. As we returned to our car, a homeless man stopped us to pet our dogs and after a few minutes of conversation, he suddenly switched gears and began having flashbacks to Vietnam. It was SO sad and scary for him, and lucky for him my husband, who is SO good in moments of crisis, was there to help him find a place to sit until he came out of it. Then he started sobbing. It was heartbreaking.
Monday, May 16, 2011
AC Transit is not my friend
On Saturday night, I had a great time partying it up in San Francisco for my friend's 30th birthday. We all crashed in a hotel room in Union Square. Whenever I drink, I don't sleep much so it was no surprise to me when my internal alarm clock went off at 6:15 am. Knowing that normal people sleep longer after a night of drinking, I decided to sneak out and go home early. My phone had died the night before, so I was unable to check the BART schedule, but I always take early trains during the week, so I figured I was good to go. I walked over to the BART and got on the Pitsburg/Bay Point train, figuring I'd transfer at 19th Street Oakland (my standard route home).
Of all the days for my phone (and thus my camera) to be dead! I was smashed into a train chock-full of Bay to Breakers. There were some good costumes but (thankfully) no naked guys. They all got off at the Embarcadero stop and soon it was just five of us on the train.
Since my phone was dead, I had nothing to do but sit and eavesdrop on the couple across the aisle. I'm using the term couple very loosely, as it was actually a guy hitting on the stranger in front of him. It amazes me how some guys don't pick up on body language or social cues! She was sitting in front of him. His pick-up line was "Do you speak spanish?" (the answer: "Even though I look mexican, no.". Neither did he. Then he started with what can best be described as an interview. Where was she taking BART to? Was she in school? Where did she work? If this seems creepy to you, it was! Initially, she turned around to answer his questions but soon she just stared straight ahead and answered them as he stared at her reflection in the BART window. To her credit, she gave vague answers that wouldn't give him a chance to stalk her later. I wanted to yell out to her that if she was uncomfortable, she had every right to a) stop engaging in the interrogation or b) move. Sadly, the uncomfort continued until I reached my transfer at 19th Street.
Of all the days for my phone (and thus my camera) to be dead! I was smashed into a train chock-full of Bay to Breakers. There were some good costumes but (thankfully) no naked guys. They all got off at the Embarcadero stop and soon it was just five of us on the train.
Since my phone was dead, I had nothing to do but sit and eavesdrop on the couple across the aisle. I'm using the term couple very loosely, as it was actually a guy hitting on the stranger in front of him. It amazes me how some guys don't pick up on body language or social cues! She was sitting in front of him. His pick-up line was "Do you speak spanish?" (the answer: "Even though I look mexican, no.". Neither did he. Then he started with what can best be described as an interview. Where was she taking BART to? Was she in school? Where did she work? If this seems creepy to you, it was! Initially, she turned around to answer his questions but soon she just stared straight ahead and answered them as he stared at her reflection in the BART window. To her credit, she gave vague answers that wouldn't give him a chance to stalk her later. I wanted to yell out to her that if she was uncomfortable, she had every right to a) stop engaging in the interrogation or b) move. Sadly, the uncomfort continued until I reached my transfer at 19th Street.
I got off the BART and walked to the opposite platform. Funny, there was no train scheduled to arrive. Weird. An elderly lady approached me and asked me if the Richmind train was coming. My only answer: "I hope." I found a schedule on the board and learned that Sunday morning trains don't start running until 8:15 am. It was 7:15 am. The only reason the other train was running was due to a special schedule for Bay to Breakers.
Dammit. I had nothing to read or listen to (damn dead phone!). I was not in the best (or worst) part of Oakland. Nothing would be open, anyway, because it was too early on a Sunday morning. I found the older lady and let her know the news. She asked me how much the bus would cost. Light bulb! I could take the bus home!
I went upstairs and just my luck, the bus I needed drove up right then! Score, right? No. The damn bus died every time it opened its doors. Which is every stop. We'd sit there for five minutes at every stop as the driver fiddled with the buttons and tried to get the engine to turn over. Then it would start (hooray!) and we'd drive a mile to the next stop and it would die. I was pleading with the bus gods to let the bus make it to Berkeley, where I could at least hang out at a familiar coffee shop until BART started running. Somewhere near Ashby, the bus stopped dying at each stop, but only with the trade-off of listening to an incessant warning buzz the entire ride home.
When I finally got home, my two sweet dogs were so excited to see me. I can't remember a recent time when I was so happy to see them, too.
Dammit. I had nothing to read or listen to (damn dead phone!). I was not in the best (or worst) part of Oakland. Nothing would be open, anyway, because it was too early on a Sunday morning. I found the older lady and let her know the news. She asked me how much the bus would cost. Light bulb! I could take the bus home!
I went upstairs and just my luck, the bus I needed drove up right then! Score, right? No. The damn bus died every time it opened its doors. Which is every stop. We'd sit there for five minutes at every stop as the driver fiddled with the buttons and tried to get the engine to turn over. Then it would start (hooray!) and we'd drive a mile to the next stop and it would die. I was pleading with the bus gods to let the bus make it to Berkeley, where I could at least hang out at a familiar coffee shop until BART started running. Somewhere near Ashby, the bus stopped dying at each stop, but only with the trade-off of listening to an incessant warning buzz the entire ride home.
When I finally got home, my two sweet dogs were so excited to see me. I can't remember a recent time when I was so happy to see them, too.
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