The Commuting Capitalist

I can only imagine. Hell, I've been there.

Break glass and pull handle.
Break glass and pull handle.
Break glass and pull handle.

Sadly not all escape hatches have a piece of glass to smash my fist through so I just anxiously gnaw at my bottom lip and wait. And wait. And wait.

It's either that or felony battery, I figure this is the more responsible option.

Break glass and pull handle.

Or sit there and plot one last escape. What else was there to do? Don't send a search party, I've broken the glass and escaped. You might want to get someone to take a look at that handle.
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Oh Muni. Do you REALLY want my opinion?

K, if you're sure, here it goes:

Fuck you!

We've officially reached the tolerable threshold of price versus service meaning you will lose riders by the thousands for this stunt, sending revenues plummeting deeper into the red. You cannot raise fares three times in a year, nor can you cut service while doing so. Service cuts? You must be joking, I have to wait 22 minutes for my bus home as is. Now what? 44 minutes?

Once upon a time, San Francisco was a beautiful city. I'm not sure when that was, I've been here nearly 11 years and it was a cesspool when I arrived in 1999 but this?! Consider yourselves screwed, Muni.

Maybe put up some more "assault on a Muni driver is a crime!" signs and hope no one beats their overpaid asses for this.

It won't be me, of course. I'll be telecommuting, you motherfuckers.
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Right?

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Another one is loose in the city tonight. After 10 years and 5 months here, I've gotten quite skilled at hostage negotiations for Muni riders. Just in case he hopped on one after he chewed off his jail bracelet and left it on this garbage can on O'Farrell and Van Ness, that is.

+a knife

I'm a smart girl after all.
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Poignant, no?

(Geary and Collins, SF)
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Loud.

DBA "Fed the fuck up"

I'll be sure to send you a new Outlook contact card to reflect the name change.

Bitches.
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At the end of the day, sometimes it's just what you need. Work can do that.

Maybe you end up eying the brass taps and making your selection, or sit on stools by the window with the local favorite, and your favorite, watching the street go by. Sometimes, all it takes to make that hour happy is a paperbag for the ride home. Or the ride to anywhere.

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Seriously.
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It was cold, windy and dark and some bicyclist had chained his ride to a street sign outside a bar full of increasingly drunk people. There's something to be said for not drinking and driving. But, really, good luck, buddy.

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