TEMPORARY TRANSIT STOP

Because of the ongoing Van Ness Avenue project, the bus stop keeps moving across the intersection. For several weeks it will be outside the gym whose patrons I shall piss off with cigars, for several weeks it was near the Chinese childcare centre whose tykes I will not expose to smoke if at all possible. Tobacco smoke nicely disguises the reek of superior sweaty adults, but interferes with stuffed bunny rabbits and teddy bears.

If you have a stuffed rabbit, you don't want it to pong of tobacco.

That's what grandparents are for.


Because this is San Francisco, the shifting bus stops are marked in various languages, obviously because you should not wait for the bus where yellow earthmoving equipment is creating a huge hole in the ground. Bus drivers will not be able to see your barely visible head sticking up over the edges from a distance. You would wait forlornly.



臨時車站
[Canto: 'lam si che jaam']

The bus stop is used by Spanish speakers, Russians (no translation for them), Filipinos, Subcontinentals (also no language) and both Mandarin and Cantonese speakers. Plus folks fluent in English.

Because this is San Francisco, bums, drunks, and tourists stagger into view. One of whom always asks "spare a buck for a poor Christian?"
Which is the wrong approach. I can't stand Christians. And he's a bad example of that type. What with being blotto so soon after breakfast.

Je suis désolé, earthling, I do not speak your language.

On that note, I am naturally reminded of some neighbors who are Seventh Day Adventists, whom I've known for years. Nice enough folks, Indonesian Chinese. But one of them made the mistake of talking Jesus to me at the Laundromat years ago. After a long and completely one-sided disquisition about the Documentary Hypothesis and several contradictory statements in the Pentateuch, she never made that mistake again. In her mind I am probably a stubborn smelly Dutchman, the Indies are well rid of my type.

[We left seventy years ago, and they are still celebrating!]

Her kinfolk also use that busstop. We nod and say 'selamat pagi', and keep to ourselves. Because, as you will understand, a busstop is not the place for religion. Or financial questions. We have to be there, we have no choice, and it's really not cricket to distract us with Jesus or dollars when our eyes are focused on the intersection three blocks away where the bus will lumber into view. The nearer distance is occupied by earthmoving equipment.


I'm sorry, I lack Jesus and empathy, and I am pre-occupied.
Normal people people do not talk about religions.
That's for bums, nuts, and white Buddhists.
Tourists are often nearly as bad.
I have no change.


The little kiddies at the nearby childcare facility do not speak about Jesus.
If they talk at all, it's probably about their teddy bear or their bunny rabbit. And I think everyone will gladly agree that if a dollar were necessary to keep a teddy bear or bunny rabbit from harm, we would gladly fork it over.


There are several crazy people who sleep across the street at the insta-teller machine, as well as early patrons of a nearby liquor store. Unless they cross, they are harmless. They can scream all they want over there. Naturally I prefer little tykes with teddy bears and bunny rabbits. Harmless and cute is vastly preferable to intoxicated, insane, and unsanitary.
Bums, drunks, and tourists.

I do not have Jesus.




==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================