The San Francisco Diaries- "The bus"

I had to make a trip across town today, I still have that "country boy wondering through the concrete jungle" thing going on, and so I knew this was going to be interesting. I felt very fortunate to find a seat on the bus and just sat there looking out the window as the familiar surroundings of the three block radius of my apartment turned into sights that could be anywhere to me. I new I had to watch for my street in which it would be time to get off. When you travel far in a big city, chances are you will have to switch buses a few times. This can be very confusing when you aren't familiar with the streets.


So I get off of the first bus and within 5 minutes I am on the second bus many blocks from anything that I recognize. By this point I couldn’t even tell which direction we were heading. All I knew was that I was looking for 18th street and that I was confident in my ability to count that high.
Two minutes into the trip though, the bus driver pulls over, and says, "This bus is a piece of shit, and I ain't drivin' it, everybody off"! He pulls over the bus, opens the door, and just sits there waiting for us all to slowly walk off. I figured, “what’s the worst that could happen?” “I am in public and it’s not like anyone is going to mug me in broad daylight”. So I get off the bus at 5:45pm. Right in front of a fucking homeless shelter. And guess what homeless shelters do at 6:00pm. They open their doors to the homeless. And guess what homeless people are doing at 5:45pm. Standing in line for the homeless shelter.
I am sure that this was all in my head due to the culture shock that I am enduring right now, but every one of those scary looking dudes was staring at me like I was Dick Cheney giving a speech at the Apollo. They all looked hungry. Hungry for crackers!
I thought about walking to the next bus stop, but screw that! I'm Ira motha fuckin' Winfield! I don't run from nobody!
So I'm running down the street throwing all of my change on the sidewalk and screaming for my mom when I see the next bus. Over my shoulder I could see a couple of these guys walking with very little urgency towards me as if to say, “What’s the hurry? He’s just going to wear himself out running and then he will be easier to rape”. But the bus stopped right as I reached the corner. I jumped on it, and sat in the front seat next to the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life.


I'm not just talking about physical beauty (but she did have that too). She had charm, grace, and sincerity that you can't fake. We made eye contact, we both smiled as if we were old friends, I found it real easy to ask her for advice on how to get to my destination as I pressed a middle finger to the window at those homeless, mugger, rapist, non bus ticket having mother fuckers. She told me how many blocks I needed to go before getting off. Now the stage was set for a casual conversation that would end with us trading phone numbers so that we could begin the courting process.


What I didn't realize was that the bus driver had noticed the same thing about her (ever see "there's something about Mary”?). I could tell that he had quite the head start on me. He was laying it on pretty thick too. Telling her stories about riding his Harley to Arizona and how his friends couldn't handle the long ride so next time he was going to ride alone so he didn't have to stop so often. He was talking about volunteering at children’s’ hospitals and reading to blind people.
Yep, he was pulling out all of the stops. I’ll tell you one thing though; he was one “my wife died last year” story away from getting called out on his bullshit by me. One thing about us bullshit artists, we can smell our own, and this guy stunk to high hell. I never got to say another word to her. We stopped in front of the Yoga Den. She walked off of the bus, into her yoga class, and out of my life.


Dickhead, Cockblocking bus driver dude didn't even ask for her phone number. It was pretty obvious that he only kept talking to her so that I couldn't get my own foot in the door. He never looked at me for the rest of the trip, but I could see a smug smile on his face in the mirror. He thought he was so damn cool, with his bus driver coat, and post officer hat. After we went about two more blocks, I heard him say (like he was just thinking out loud), "that sure was a hot looking piece of tail", then he leaned over and turned up the Nicklback song on the radio. I was so fucking mad that my blood began to boil. I wanted to punch him with every ounce of strength that I had. I fucking hate Nickleback! And I don't know how, but I think he knew it.


This guy was almost in full dance mode while sitting in his seat. Everything about this guy said that he had never heard the song before, including the fact that he didn’t know any of the words yet he was trying to sing along. Clearly he was trying to antagonize me. And it was working. After about two blocks of his company, I'd had enough of this guy. I rang the bell, and got off in front of a Burger King that had more obscenities spay painted on the wall than any story I have ever written. I had gotten away from that smartass bus driver but now I had a new problem. I was walking down the street just before dark in a very rough looking area about 15 blocks from my home. Not only was it getting dark, but the wind was really starting to pick up. It's always windy in San Francisco, but on this evening it was blowing so hard that it made it difficult to walk.



I had already made up my mind that this trip across town was to be cancelled indefinitely. My large frame and menacing stare was no match for my timid personality and the fact that street people were becoming more and more intimidating to me. The farther I went, the more I stood out from everyone else.

Finally, I started to think that I maybe should have stayed on the bus.
I was also thinking that I definitely should have stayed in my apartment.
No more going outside after dark for this cowboy. I will be implementing a strict curfew of 5pm for myself every night with no exceptions. Somebody offers me the job of a lifetime that pays more money in a week than I am used to making in a month? It better be the fucking morning shift! The biography of Ira Winfield will not end in a dark alley with a rape scene that makes the deliverance look like a PG rated movie. No sir, I already have my death planned out thank you, and it doesn’t involve knives or gang rape. It will be a shark attack after I jumped into the ocean while running from a bear. The way real men die.


As all of these somewhat irrational thoughts were running through my head I started thinking that maybe I should start paying attention to where I am going so I don’t get lost. Then I saw it, my savior, an army surplus store. I quickly walked in there and bought a can of pepper spray. I walked out of that place with a strong feeling of confidence. Ira will be a victim no more.


So now I am walking down the street with a new air of confidence, almost hoping someone will try to mug me so I can hold out my arm, mace in hand, and unleash the fucking fury! I'm walking and daydreaming about spraying that shit into the air, and temporarily blinding some asshole thug. I walked around the corner and came face to face with two of the homeless guys from that fateful stop in front of the shelter.
The dominant one had most of his teeth, an eye patch, and somehow, a beer gut. The ugly one had no teeth, the most zits I’ve ever seen on a 40 year old man, the word “buttfucker” tattooed across his forehead, and somehow, a lipstick smudge on his cheek. It should be noted that the better looking one was wearing a small amount of lipstick. They both smiled at me like they had been looking for me the whole time.
I had my hand on the big can of pepper spray in my pocket as we stood there staring at each other. "Here it is", I thought, "do or die"! But then I thought, "Fuck, I'm standing down wind from these guys." "Once that boomerang of pepper spray comes back and hits me in the face, they're going to kick the shit out of me and steal my shoes"! Then from out of left field, the better looking of the two says, "You dropped some quarters back there", and handed me a $1.25 in change. So I looked at him and said, "Where’s the rest of it"? They both started laughing their asses off, and slapping their knees. Apparently they thought I was kidding. Whatever, I was too tired to argue about it.


I stood there listening to their laughter trying to come up with a good plan. How can I get them to draw me a map to my apartment without giving them the change back? It’s obvious they know these streets well. It’s even more obvious that they could use my $1.25. Of course, they had a chance to keep it and they gave it back. But I am sure it was just one of those “karma” things where they figured if they gave my the $1.25 back that I might give them a $5.00 reward or something to the like.
So how can I get these guys to give me directions without having to do anything for them in return? I could just go into one of the stores and ask for directions, but those guys are always dicks when you’re not spending money in their store. Then I came up with a somewhat feasible, yet horrible idea.


There are 3 or 4 regular prostitutes that work on my block. One of them owes me a huge favor (long story, I am sure I will write about it someday). I could tell the homeless dudes about the favor owed to me by a “lady of the night”. It isn’t like she is ever going to be able to return the favor any other way (I know what you are thinking. I thought of that too. It’s just too gross. Prostitutes are not my thing, plus, she is always wearing a scarf or a turtle neck to cover up what I can only assume to be an adams apple, double gross).


As I explained the situation to the dudes they seemed a bit interested until I told them what area I lived in. You see, certain types of prostitutes hang out in certain areas. And apparently, I live in the he-she district.
So I was counting out my change to the one that could count while the literate one was drawing me a detailed map to my neighborhood and teasing me for “paling around with transvestite prostitutes” when The very bus I needed pulled up to the stop. We said our tearful good byes and I got on the bus.



Once I got home, I sat there thinking about my day. Then I got out the phone book, looked up a number, and called the yoga den to make myself an appointment for the following week at the same time my future wife got off of the bus on Vaness Street. You didn't think I was going to let her get away that easy did ya? On second thought, scratch that future wife part. We'll probably just live together for a couple of years until she gets sick of paying all of the bills.