Every morning a little after 7 am, the inbound Fulton 5R bus stops at Masonic. The doors flap open on the 60-foot-long articulated coach. A "Slinky" in SF Muni talk. A small, elderly woman on the sidewalk leaps into action. With unexpected spryness she quickly begins heaving large bags filled with recycled plastic bottles onto the bus. She's collected them in the early morning hours, working her way west from downtown. Now she's bringing them back. Or trying to.
Sometimes the doors close and bus continues onward. More often, the driver sets the brake, reluctantly stands up and exits the plexiglas cab of the bus. With a slow, resigned walk he makes his way down the bus aisle to the woman and her bags. They are heaped onto seats and blocking the aisle. They are not watertight. Words are exchanged. Words in different languages. Emphatic words. Like, "I'm not asking, I'm telling: Get the bags off the bus..." "This bus AINT moving until you remove this hazard..."
This goes on for a while. We sit. We sit some more. The driver lesiurely returns to the front of the bus. He turns to face the passengers and announces again, "This bus ain't going nowhere until that hazard is removed." He repeats this statement several times. Just as people are starting to get up to leave the bus, the old woman begins removing her cargo to the sidewalk. The doors slide shut and we lurch onward. And scene.
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