We first started trying to find the ferry, which was up and over the freeway directly from where we were, but it took walking about to find it, or really to get the right answer to the simple question “Where’s the bus stop around here?” So after finding the ferry and then the bus stop an hour or so later, after crossing the freeway multiple times in multiple ways we made it to the bus stop that actually had the busses stop at them that late in the evening. And that was the catch we should have realized. The time of the evening. But being freaks in need of a good time, that little fact of time tables and bus schedules didn’t dissuade us from our journey, our quest for the city.
We paid the four dollars and fifty-five cents to the bus driver, after questioning two women at the stop with us as to where and what bus we should take, and off we went.
As we rode the bus, through towns like Sausalito, Corte Madera, and Marin. My buddy was amazed, at what I’m not entirely sure. Whether it was the fact that we had finally found the bus, that we were actually on the bus to Frisco, or that he was still rushing from the endorphins coursing through his body still from the excessive walking. So we rode, rode, and rode some more till we got to the Civic Center at the heart of Frisco and we got off of the bus. From there we cruised to the BART train and tried to ride it around. But after buying the ticket to the train and seeing the train speed away before we got to it, we waited a bit till a blonde woman from the BART land of Frisco decided to inform us that that last train, the one right there speeding away, was the last one of the evening. Now that should have been our clue as to the evening’s course, but we were not deterred. We climbed back out onto the street and found the street cable car rides and jumped on them and rode them to the fisherman’s wharf area. The driver was a tallish roundish fellow that had to deal with quite a lot from the commuters he met. I actually had a bit of pity for him, until a black fellow came on the train.
He was having a problem coming up with the fare, a dollar and fifty-five cents I think it was, and was inebriated as well, which I think didn’t help either his ability to fish for change or his ability to converse coherently. So as he’s trying to find the change for his fare another fellow handed him his transfer ticket to use, as he said he had at least five of them already and it was not going to impede his traveling abilities. As the other gent tried to hand the driver his transfer the driver said he wasn’t able to take said transfer. At this point I got the feeling he, the driver, was trying to be either difficult or disagreeable. The other gentleman, he of the transfer ticket giving nature, got up and dumped a handful of change into the change receptacle. As the cable car started forward the one gent, he of the change giving, began to complain about the state of the country and the problems with transit in general. The driver then began to way in with his viewpoint of how people want a free ride and a mess of other inane objections. The one guy, he of the change, stated that in this country he had the right to state his opinion, his first amendment right actually, and an argument ensued till the two guys ended up hitting the stop and getting off the cable car. As they rounded the front of the cable car and ran across the street the driver opened the window closest to him and yelled “Fucking Niggars” and started forward again.
