My Favorite Bus & Books for Black People

When I first lived in San Francisco, I didn't have a car. As amazing as it was to never have to be sober, it really didn't lead me down the right path in my educational career. Ironically, the number of parking tickets I receive now keeps me from spending that money on other things that contribute to my delinquency and help me succumb to my vices. My favorite light-rail line is the N, and my favorite bus is the 22. On those lines alone I can get almost anywhere in San Francisco, including The Mission, Haight-Ashbury, The Castro, The Fillmore, Pacific Heights, and The Marina.

The other day I was on the 22, with my runny nose and cough that sounds worryingly like bronichitis, and I realized that no one cared that I was sick. In this city, it's hard not to find yourself next to someone who (a) reeks of liquor, (b) hasn't bathed in a week, (3) thinks it's cool to hug you a lot, or (4) pees anywhere. In my work clothes, a white button down and black skirt, I guess my cough was more appealing than any of those various maladies that applied to a number of others on the bus. After catching up with a friend and grabbing sushi on the corner of 16th and Valencia, my intoxicated self (damn pitchers of beer at noon) found the nearest bus stop and only two minutes later, up pulled the 22! My favorite bus of all time!

Although I had forgotten my headphones, I still managed to disappear into my own little world - as I usually do when I'm on a form of public transportation. I stared out the window and watched the streets of The Mission pass me by, and then The Castro, Lower Haight, and finally I was on Fillmore. Although my original intention was to take the 22 to my work and feed my need for free caffeine, I decided to hop off at Hayes and walk the rest of the way. I wandered past McDonald's, which seems to always be a meeting place for neighborhood locals regardless of its location, apartment buildings and little markets, and ended up back where I always do - Marcus Books. The afrocentric book store might be filled with books by-and-for black people, but I love the atmosphere and the lady (yes, Yvonne, I said lady) who's always in there, Karen.

She's such a sweetheart and she barely speaks above a whisper, so you always have to stand less than a foot away from her to hear what she's saying. She lit incense and organized some postcards while I stood looking at poetry books and calendars, and never once asked me if I was okay or finding what I wanted. I think that's such an inane question; "see what you're looking for?" No, dumbass, because if I saw it I would be buying it right now. I settled on a poetry book with the word blues in the title (I lost it already, I'm somewhat disorganized) and she meandered to the cash register when she saw I was waiting. I said hi first, as I always do, and she calmly smiled at me and responded with an eloquent "hello." The money exchange, the awkward scramble when I drop all my change on the floor - all par for the course in my life. But, as usual, the 22 led me right where I needed to be and I bought a book that will teach me things I need to know, if I ever find it in the insanity that is my room/car/mind/life.

One Rainy Thursday Afternoon

As I wandered along Fillmore St., bundled in my warmest jacket and boots, I could see animosity in the faces of other pedestrians. Some were fighting the pelting rain in their t-shirts, while others sighed in desperation as their umbrellas blew inside-out and became caught in the middle of some invisible tug-of-war with mother nature. Tourists and locals alike might have been happy for the rain to come, but after a few days of it their faces only show annoyance at real weather - something that San Franciscans haven't seen for a few months.

There's a corner where Fillmore St. hits Geary Blvd. that a few busses stop at, and a lot of people stand around on a regular basis. When it rains, the water spreads out on the pavement and in the street; not necessarily a puddle but definitely deep enough to splash. A blue SUV drove by, probably faster than necessary, and the water sprayed onto a few pedestrians. Their faces registered shock, confusion, and then anger and frustration. Once they move to a safer area, a few more people take their places near the wannabe-puddle... and eventually get splashed just like the first group of oblivious people.

Although San Francisco has a rainy reputation, the quick flip from sunshine to sheets of rain always shocks people. I think the true locals in The Fillmore stand out in this weather, though, because whether they're prepared or not they know how to make do with what they've got. One group of people huddled under the bus overhang were obviously tourists, looking at their non-laminated maps, and up at the sky; back at the maps and at the sky again. They might have had yellow rain jackets on but I guess they forgot that rain and glasses don't mix. Until someone invents mini windshield wipers for glasses, they won't be ideal or functional in the rain. The only one saved from having to wipe her glasses every two minutes was the little girl, probably around 3 or 4 years old, holding onto the back of a middle-aged woman's jacket and looking around; fearful but curious at the same time.

Finally, after a day long of work, school, and observation, I walked the seemingly endless blocks back to Pacific Heights - where I'd parked my car. I work at a coffee shop in that neighborhood, and stop by as much as possible to feed my need for caffeine for free instead of spending $5 on what I know costs 50 cents to make. Passing through Pine and California, Clay, Sacramento, Washington and all the other streets that intersect Fillmore St., I was amazed (as always) at the sudden shift in attitude, population, cleanliness, and atmosphere. Instead of old jazz institutions, ethnic bookshops and barbershops, there are now expensive retail shops and fancy restaurants with women in heels and men in ties. The juxtaposition of the two neighborhoods and the fear and curiosity of citizens in each towards those in the other reminded me of the little girl; she was scared of the rain but it was always there and always would be there, it just might take a while to understand it.