Those of you who listened to the “Hidden Cities” episode of NPR’s Snap Judgment, a weekly spoken word program hosted by Glynn Washington, will know immediately from the title what I’m talking about. Each episode comprises several stories told by different guests which are, as far as I know, taken from the tellers’ true lives. At any rate, they’re presented as such. Washington begins every episode with a brief tale of his own.
In the podcast I listened to last night, I was shocked by Washington’s opening tale. He lives in Oakland and works in San Francisco; every workday he takes the BART over to the City, then he gets on the 38 bus to ride to his workplace. He’s never experienced any kind of problem with the other passengers on the 38, so on one occasion, he’s totally perplexed by a friend who has turned out to be apoplectic with fear at the prospect of riding that particular bus line.
A couple of weeks pass, and now Washington finds he needs to put in some time at the office Saturday. It’s not that unusual for him to work the occasional Saturday, but this is the first time he couldn’t do it from home. On a typical workday, he makes an effort to dress up a bit and look professional, but this being Saturday it’s sneakers, threadbare jeans, tee, and a hoodie. As usual he takes along a large backpack containing his laptop, various notebooks for story ideas, and the usual odds and ends people carry in backpacks.
Just as every other working day, he takes the train across the and then gets transfers to the 38 bus, and takes a seat. It’s not very crowded, so he puts the backpack on the seat next to him, and takes out one of the notebooks to go over some of his writing. A big dangerous looking dude who smells of urine and has a yellowish cast to his eyes, saunters over and asks, “What’s in the bag?”
Washington ignores him pointedly. Yellow Eyes, as the narrator calls him, asks again:
“I said, what’s in the backpack?”
“Oh, you mean this bag here? This bag here is chock full of none of your damn business.”
He goes back to his notebook, but Yellow Eyes slams it out of his hands to the floor.
“I asked you a question! What’s up with the bag?”
Meanwhile, two of Yellow-Eyes accomplices also walk down the aisle to join the little party. One reeks of piss and the other has an evil, predatory smirk.
Oh, shit.
Taking a big gamble, our intrepid author rises up and attacks one of the three; fortunately the other two don’t join in. The bus stops just then and he gathers up his belongings and exits. He is immensely relieved that nobody else leaves the bus; nobody follows him.
Then it hits him: it’s Saturday! His normal go-to-work outfits, he concludes, were one reason he never had a problem on the bus before. Apparently bus-bullies in their natural habitat spare the workaday commuters on their daily treks to and from. But today’s dress-down clothes, I presume, made him look like any other potential target. Moreover, he goes on to say he now understands how public transit can be for the vulnerable. “If you’re short, if you’re old, if you’re female–it’s a different bus.”
Seriously?
I know the Fillmore District isn’t the best part of town, but I can’t imagine not being able to ride a bus through it. I live in L.A. myself, and have on occasion taken long bus rides through areas where I’d rather not. And while there have been a handful of incidents on our buses and trains over the years, they’re generally quite safe. But Glynn Washington’s narration implies that the 38-Geary is consistently dangerous for the unwise and unwary.
Can this really be true? Is it really that bad?
FTR Washington is African-American, although he doesn’t reveal the ethnicity of the three thugs on the bus. IIRC the Fillmore was traditionally an African-American neighborhood as well FWIW.