The Commuter Horseplay Incidents

After starting trade school at Heald College, I joined the ranks of the early risers by hopping aboard the Golden Gate Transit (GGT) bus from Petaluma to San Francisco. It was during these rides that I met one of the drivers, I’ll call him Fred, because I would not want to risk his pension by revealing his real name. Fred drove the 74 bus I always took so we got to know each other and found fun ways to pass the time.

We would never get away with this stuff we did then now.

Fred was a great driver and had an amazing sense of humor. If you were awake and in a playful mood, he would let the good times roll!

If you take the same bus at the same time from the same stops, you get to know many of the other riders and can make friends you both know and enjoy sitting with. In my case it did not take much time to meet such a group. There were three of us who liked to sit together and joke around on the long drive into the city.

At home, I was reading Don Quixote for my fun reading and frequently shared different scenes from the book. This led to us making jousting jokes together. For this, I picked up the nickname ‘Don Quixote’. It became clear that we had to respect a fine balance of laughing out loud and trying to be quiet for those who were trying to catch an extra 90 minutes of sleep before work. Those who were wise to our pattern, knew better than to sit up front where we sat and carried on with Fred.

I know what some of you are thinking.  You think we were rude and disruptive for making such a scene each early morning, killing the relative silence that ruled the normal buses. I accept full responsibility for my part in this small storm of verbal chaos but will plead my case by pointing out that I know there were some of the normal riders who deliberately sat nearby to enjoy the morning show of youthful enthusiasm.  I caught them often laughing with us even though most never participated. A few did, but the balance was different and awkward sometimes, but we were never jerks about it and Fred certainly encouraged it.

We liked being up front because Fred would join the fun and tell bus driver stories or make smart remarks to ours. A great time was had by all – well except for those trying to sleep too close to us.

For the ride back home, I started standing up in the front of the bus, even if there were seats available, just to talk with him. There was a handrail right there and I stood in the stairwell to enjoy his friendship and stretch my legs after a long day in class. There was some kind of policy against this, but Fred didn’t pay much attention to it, so I was often right there, greeting him, stepping back to allow new passengers to board then stepping forward again as we rolled away to catch up on the daily load of laughs.  For this tired student, this bus ride was therapy.

Anyway, I once became one of Fred’s stories without really thinking about it.

It was Friday afternoon after a long week of study. I was exhausted but was very glad to see Fred behind the wheel as he swung the door open to let us board. After a long day of trying to wrangle alternating current theory into something I could pass a test on, I really just needed some good laughs to unwind and pass the time.

Depending on my mood, I’d sometimes take a seat near the front, stash my books in the overhead and sit until the bus got full. Then I’d offer my seat to a lady so I could move up with Fred in the front.

Normally, the last available seats were taken by those loading in front of Alan’s Flower Shop on north Van Ness. Alan himself frequently dressed up in all kinds of outfits and stood about a block before the store to attract business.

One day, Fred had me laughing about something well before we got to the flower shop. I was standing in the stairwell already and was always interested to see what new stunts Alan was pulling that day because we would always make fun of him. To my amazement, today he was in a garish clown outfit, standing in a parking spot, very close to passing traffic trying to tap (or bless maybe) each car with a large bouquet of flowers. I could tell that Fred was already winding up with a smart remark. With most of the block between us and the bus stop, we were moving at full speed when an audacious idea struck me.

“Fred – quick, open the door!” He immediately pushed the rod that folded the door open so I could reach out and grab Alan’s bouquet of flowers. Fred immediately closed the door, and the deed was done. It all happened so quickly! One moment, we were laughing as normal and the next I had successfully commandeered a Golden Gate Transit bus to steal some guy’s flowers at thirty-some-odd miles per hour. Because so much wind came with the door being opened, most everyone from the front of the bus were alerted, saw our stunt and were now laughing about it.

About a half of a block later, Fred, braked and pulled into the bus stop as normal in front of Alan’s store and reopened the door through tears of laughter. Many of those who were waiting to board had seen it too and I worried that this might not have been such a good idea. So, hoping to salvage some of my claim to freedom from a jail cell, I stepped off and called back to Alan that he could have his flowers back and that I was only joking. But he too was laughing and managed to squeak out that I had been brave enough to grab them so I could keep them. I stepped back up into the bus and Fred was doubled over with laughter. What to do now? I didn’t really want the flowers, so I handed them to some guy who just boarded and asked him to give a flower to all the women on the bus. This nicely moved him into the spotlight so I could safely step out.

So, Alan’s Flower Shop was firmly established as a place where weird things happened, but we never topped this stunt.

On another day, a large number of folks boarded from in front of the flower shop. I already knew how many seats were left so I knew when I stood to offer my seat to a woman that she would not otherwise have one. I thought I was doing her a kindness, but somehow, I miss judged the situation and instead of a smile and word of thanks – she slapped me – hard across the face and said something that I would not have recalled even at the moment.

The bus went silent. Assaults like this were never seen on Fred’s bus.

I was shocked and struggled to understand. What did I do to deserve that? I could feel Fred watching from his passenger rear view mirror as I concluded that I did not deserve being slapped and decided not to apologize for something that was only in her head and did something much more story worthy.

I glared at her to validate that she was of sound-enough mind to understand what was about to happen – and she was glaring back with an I-dare-you expression. Good, I thought and slapped her back with what I felt was approximately equal energy and knocked that snotty expression of hers about six rows away, leaving her looking as shocked as I must have looked just seconds earlier. A few of the otherwise silent passengers uttered gasps of surprise.

Next, I grabbed both her arms to make sure she was disarmed for a few seconds and told her, loudly for everyone to hear, “If you’re lady enough to slap a man for offering you a seat, then I’m man enough to slap you back for it. Now sit down, shut up and stay put!” I forced her down into the seat and spun around and walked slowly up to my stair well – fuming.

Within three steps, I realized many nearby were cheering for me. Everyone considered what just happened and most were returning their judgements. I had soundly won in the court of public opinion.

Fortunately, Fred had not pulled away from the curb yet and had seen and heard it all. When I turned to face him, ready to accept whatever he needed to say or do, he was bent over the steering wheel utterly failing to laugh silently.

When he did speak, it was through tears of laughter. I’d not yet calmed down and he was already joking about “. . . the look on her face when you slapped her back. . . I – I may have to refund a fare to the poor guy you left her sitting next to. She’s sure to take it out on him.”

Okay, that did make me grin, but my face still stung as the cheers from the back were dying down.  Fred was ready with a good distraction to get me laughing again. “Okay big fella, let’s get you out of town before anything else happens.”

If anyone ever found out what her issue was, they did not tell me. I suspected she was an early follower of the woman’s equality movement and somehow offering her a seat was an insult. I did get several muted high-fives from folks who got off before me but no useful information. Fred had me laughing about it for weeks and, oddly, we never saw her again.

Overall, the city was kind to me, and over the next few days I relaxed as life went back to normal, well, until it switched on me again. This time, I was on a cable car with a Petaluma gal I had had a crush on years ago, but never mustered the courage to talk to her. But now, I was all grown up and knew sufficient adult words and techniques to approach her and learned that she was working and living in San Francisco. I did not need to ask anything to determine that she was still very charming. And just like that, a wonderful romance began. Since many of you would know her and I can’t now ask for her permission to use her real name, I’ll just call her, Alice.

Our dating pattern was simple. I finished classes before she got off work so had time to make my way over to the financial district and meet her outside her office. We would then take the cable car to her neighborhood and walk to her flat. There, she turned into a playful tyrant, forcing me to finish my homework before allowing anything fun.

Every other afternoon, that cable car ride was just a necessary commute but one afternoon, some jerk interrupted our otherwise uneventful ride.

The cable cars normally ran both ways and passed pretty close to each other. This day, both the car Alice and I were on and the one coming towards us from up one of San Francisco’s famous hills, were loaded. There were no seats when we boarded, and folks were already standing and holding the rails on the sides of both cars. I stood Alice between two rails where she could hold on while I stood behind her, hanging out over the street –which was fairly common and never an issue.

I glanced forward at the approaching car, trying to make sure there was enough space for us to pass without smashing into each other – and suddenly could not believe my eyes! On the car coming at us, hanging from the side we need to squeeze past was some young idiot meeting my glance. As I watched, he let go with one arm and folded his fist into his stomach leaving his elbow pointed at me.

Who is this clown? I thought. Do I know him – no – never seen him before. Is he really going to joust me from a cable car? I couldn’t let go with either hand without putting us both at risk, but as we got closer, he expressed only a malicious savoring of the coming impact. There was no way to stop him.

“Hold on Alice!” I said and tightened my grip on the rails.

“Why? What’s wrong?” She couldn’t see what I saw. In the final seconds before impact, I decided that I couldn’t drop away from the moving car without exposing her so all I had was a remedy for afterwards.

The cars began their pass and I hoped that he was only messing with me, but – “Ooof!” He nailed my rib cage at full cable car speed times two.

With the wind knocked out of me, I lashed out with my foot, as hard and as high as I could and felt a solid impact. Gasping, I maintained my grip on both rails to protect Alice and spun my head to validate that I had kicked the right guy. I saw spectacular success in the form of a body wrapped in his distinctive shirt tumbling down the asphalt between the two cars.

I watched as the cable car terrorist stopped rolling and lay still in the middle of the street. “Oh God, please let him get up.” His death would ruin our whole evening. “Yikes! I’m glad that delivery van swerved in time. …”

Thankfully, as we crested the hill ourselves and moved out of sight, I saw him weakly rise and limp out of the street. I never found out what was behind this assault, but I doubt that this guy ever tried this again.

Alice had a great sense of humor, so we laughed a lot together. I was walking her home after a later cable car ride (safely this time) with her from her work to her flat.

I was in my final quarter at school and change was in the air, along with a running sense of audaciousness when I noticed a distinctive car parked in her neighborhood – a car that I knew well.  It was a French Peugeot  and belonged to our digital technology instructor at school.  I glanced inside and sure enough, his briefcase and a copy of our textbook were there on the floor behind the driver’s seat.

This guy was a character. He loved being hard on us, but with always with a touch of humor. He was French and had a strong accent that we constantly gave him grief for because often we’d have to confer amongst ourselves to figure out what he’d said.

So, I’d accidentally discovered which San Francisco neighborhood he lived in. Hmm, what can I do with this piece of information? Alice was right there, had never met the man but was always up for a good prank so I pulled out a piece of paper and asked her to write a very brief love note. Together we decided on, “Thanks for a great evening. Love Alice.”

I took the paper back, folded it and put it beneath the driver-side windshield wiper. Then we quickly moved on to the nearby grocery store where we picked up the makings for a homemade burger night at her flat.  I caught the last GGT for home around 10pm, went straight to bed, was back before sunrise to meet Fred’s bus leaving Petaluma and was in my seat in class and very keen on hearing his reaction to finding that note this morning.

I’d shared with my lab partner what I’d done so he could expect the fun with me when our instructor arrived.  As was his style, he shook his head and said, “You are so doomed Wilson.”

Our instructor strolled in as normal, unpacked his materials and began.  We listened, took notes, questioned, discussed, and gave him grief for how he mangled some English words – all as normal.  Did he somehow miss that note? When I glanced at him, my lab partner only shrugged back.

“Okay, that’s it.  Any questions? Non? You have your lab instructions, but one final item s’il te plait. Who placed the note on my car last night?”

His tone and expression were so dead pan that I feared something may have gone astray but otherwise said nothing. A weird silence filled the room as everyone looked around, trying to figure out what this was all about.

“My wife found it and who is Alice?”  To which both my lab partner and I uttered shocked snorts. It was so clever, and I was so busted. He smiled knowing that I’d arranged this outrage because my lab partner was so civilized – he would never pull such a stunt.

He said nothing else about it, knowing that I’d as good as confessed to the crime. Instead, he dismissed us to the lab where of course I now had to explain over and over what I’d done. Most of my peers laughed and warned me about pulling such things on the instructor who was soon going to grade my work. This time the court of public opinion was not coming down in my favor. Funny? Yes. Wise? Non. . .

I thought it was great how easily he’d turned the stunt back on me. He later gave me straight A’s for the quarter and recommended me for a great job after graduation.

But at that moment, this Don Quixote felt chastised and happy to just keep quiet the rest of the day.

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