MUNI is evil.
But first, some backstory.
On Saturday evening I found myself lying in a hammock under the night skies of Treasure Island, nursing a Fat Tire and thinking about nothing in particular, except that it was remarkable that the stars could be seen from the island. Usually city skies are too bright for stars, but I was able to clearly identify the Big Dipper and several other constellations. I was replete after a pleasant meal with old friends whom I hadn’t seen in some time. M and B were sprawled out in lawn chairs, music drifted out from the inside, and we chatted idly about earthquakes, home improvement, and the new Bay Bridge.
It seemed like the evening was rather excellent already, but M reminded me that I had been invited to a party in the Mission District and that I should probably go. We rallied the troops and a debate about directions ensued, which M finally settled by saying:
“We’ll take the bus, and I’ll Google it from the Mission and 23rd stop. It will be a snap.”
Prophetic words, though we didn’t know it then, and we burst out of the house, directions and bus schedule crackling in M’s pocket. The six of us piled on the Transbay, which was remarkably clean and deposited us at the Transbay Terminal in short order. We walked the scant block to the Mission stop and the 14 pulled up almost immediately. From our stop, the party was only a few blocks away, and although I had transposed the numbers, we found it with little difficulty.
Much partying commenced, and it wasn’t until almost two that M, B, and I decided to leave and make our way home. The others decided to stay at the party a little longer, and as we left the strains of heated discussion floated down the stairs and into the balmy night. Our stroll through the night was serene, and we marvelled over small world coincidences that had occurred at the party.
On our way to the bus stop, we ran into a gentleman who needed a push start, which we happily gave.
The 14 was supposed to hit 23rd at 2:09. We arrived there at 2:00, and waited until 2:25 before we decided to walk, to stretch our legs and stay awake. Secretly, we all thought we might end up walking all the way back to the Transbay Terminal, although none of us admitted it out loud. After about four blocks, the bus pulled up behind us and we jumped for joy. When the light changed, however, instead of pulling through the intersection and up to the stop, the bus sailed by, and we found ourselves running after it in a mad dash for two blocks, muttering obscenities. Passerby laughed as we sped down Mission shaking our fists at the bus.
When we caught up with the bus, the driver said:
“Oh, this is my last stop. There’s another bus right behind me.”
We peered behind her. There was no bus.
“You can wait in that bus stop over there,” she said, firmly closing the doors of her bus behind her.
And so we waited, defeated, for some time. Eventually a bus finally came and we took it to the Transbay, where we waited some more and played an insanely stupid word game. B tormented M and I to the point that we pinned him to the filthy island in the tarmac and pummeled him soundly, alarming others who were also waiting for the Transbay, which finally pulled up only to idle for 15 minutes before letting any passengers on.
We got home at 4:37.
My bitterness for MUNI knows no bounds.