Dear Diary . . . day by day

Saturday, March 3rd, 2001 - The 40L

Yesterday morning I was supposed to be at work at 8am because Janine wasn't there and she didn't want the big boss to have to answer the phone. I'll not comment on what I really think about the big boss and Janine's deference to him . . . that's not what this entry is about.
Now, usually I come in around 8:20, so on Friday I had to hurry to catch the earlier bus. I got to the corner as the bus was just starting up from the light a block away. I was relieved to have made the bus (which was running a little early) and I was standing 3 feet from the bus stop pole when it blew past me, spraying me with water.
I shouted and waved my bright purple umbrella in the air, but the bus just booked down the street to the next stop. Sputtering, I comforted myself by talking to a woman who was waiting for the 43. "Did you see the 40L just blow by me?" She commiserated with me, telling me that she's seen him drive right past someone who was leaning on the pole, just because that guy was reading a book and not looking at the bus and waving.
It took over a half an hour to get through to the AC Transit customer service to complain, but I did it.
Later, as I had a most delightful lunch with Todd, I told him about my morning bus experience. "The 40?" he asked. Todd is familiar with this bus, as he lives on the same bus line, just further up the street from me on Telegraph. "Yeah, I've walked to my destination before catching the 40. To catch that bus you need grappling hooks, I think."
I laughed. "You do! It's like a Neal Stephenson novel . . . um, you know, with the skateboarders that hitch rides through traffic . . . " We both thought a moment, and Todd came up with the title, "Snow Crash."
It makes me furious that bus drivers are so rude. It's bad enough having to put up with some of their driving - the lurching that throws you into the person squished up next to you. I don't look out the window anymore because I can't help but let out little gasps as he nearly sideswipes bike riders, day after day. Sometimes, especially when the bus is so crowded with people standing you can't move, you have to holler at the top of your lungs to get the driver to wait for you to make your way to your door so you can get off at your stop; these days I usually start making my way to the door a stop or two ahead of time. I've seen old people ask to have the bus kneel for them and the driver pretend like he didn't hear them. Disgusting. I know it can't be a dream job, driving a bus, but it is a public service. It does keep more cars off the streets. It's a good thing. It's not a job where actively hating your job only effects you and your company, you know?
Sigh...

Exercise log:
Lifted weights Thursday night: shoulders, sides and calves. Did some abs and about 25 minutes on Mr. Precor Machine.
Writing log:
Bits here and there, lots of good intentions and ideas, but no completed stories. I need a class or group or some sort of external deadline dealie.
I'm currently reading:
Our Friends from Frolix 8 by Phillip K. Dick

Reading off and on:
Unlocking the Air and other stories by Ursula K. LeGuin
Starlight 2 anthology edited by Patrick Nielsen Hayden

My new PO Box is:
Heather Shaw
P.O. Box 13222
Berkeley, CA 94712-4222

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