BUS UP SACRAMENTO STREET

It always amazes me that passengers will pretty much break the door down to get in, then just stand there in the doorway with a baffled look on their faces while half a hundred equally desperate people throng behind them. What truly baffles me, however, is how few people get lynched by their fellow-pilgrims.
Meanwhile, scarcely one or two feet away, a herd of sassy white office workers are placidly inspecting their cellphones, oblivious to the madness, like so many cows chewing their cud.
If some of those overweight young drones would just scoot a little further back, we'd fit many more people on the bus. Perhaps it's time for rusty knitting needles and ice-picks, right about squidgy buttock level.


Yes, those were my exact thoughts on the number one bus heading up Sacramento Street after a bracing cup of milk-tea in Chinatown.
But I had actually walked down to Front Street to get on at the end of the line (seven blocks), thus assuring myself of a seat. Could've walked uphill instead -- four blocks -- but that would've been harder.
And I do so enjoy watching humans acting stupid.
I'm from another planet; we're smarter.

I'm from Planet Penguin.


MAY THE HERRING BE WITH YOU -- THE LINE


[Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBnvGS4u3F0.]


If you hear giggling on the bus, it's you. Yes, we're all having fun at your expense. There's a booger on your chin, or your fly is undone, or maybe toilet paper got stuck to your shoe, your skirt-hem is tucked into your panties, someone put a post-it saying "kick me beat me call me Edna" on your back, or your cell-phone smeared your lipstick all the way up to your pimply forehead.

We don't wear lipstick. Ever.
It's unpenguinlike.



Actually, I had a splendid view of soft little pale brown hands holding on tight for dear life all the way up to Taylor Street, when she gave way to allow a large killer whale some room.

I would have asked her to sit down next to me. Except that I'm a middle-aged man, and slightly pervy. Glimpsing her lovely little hands would have been impossible without turning my neck like Linda Blair.
Which might have creeped her out.
Far better to think of herring.
Lots of nice herring.


Penguin.
Penguin.
Penguin.
Belgian bus.
Herring.
Penguin.
Poetry.



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