I guess I didn’t get the memo that cab and bus drivers abide by different laws than the rest of us. Pardon me for being so provincial. My problem with Muni busses, other than their existence, is that since they could easily run over Rhonda the Honda without even noticing, they don’t really bother to like, keep an eye out for other cars or pedestrians or hobos in wheelchairs. It’s all OUR problem to get out of THEIR way because apparently, Muni drivers seem to think this is the Jetsons and we’re all flying around in space.
But worse than the brown and orange army of inconsideration is the collection of cab drivers who maneuver these streets with the cocky, lawless aggression of Gestapo underlings, blind with self-appointed power.
Um, we are automotive equals, Badge 56294, and I’m willing to bet I’ve been here a lot longer than you.
So last night, exhausted from a long day, SuburbaGym and covered in battle-wounds from the dinnertime rush at the Potrero/Calcutta Safeway, I found a fabulous parking space on the busy corner of 21st and Harrison.
No one wanted to get out of my car and into my front door faster than yours truly. The last thing I felt like doing was dilly dallying over my bags in the heart of the ghetto. So I flung open my door, and as fast as humanly possibly, grabbed my handbag, my gym bag and 5 (yes, five) plastic Safeway bags, attempting to lift them all simultaneously from the passenger seat through the driver’s side.
But my lightning-esque speed wasn’t enough for the douchebag taxi driver speeding around the corner and dramatically screeching to a halt at my slightly ajar door. He then laid on the horn as if in the throws of an emergency situation, alerting everyone within a 10 block radius that some idiot woman was causing him immense inconvenience.
I jumped at the sound, it caught me so off guard and swung around to see where the fire was.
First of all, call me crazy, gentlemen, but when you see a woman laden with 7 bags, trying desperately to get home (after forging her way through the trenches of late-20’s career pressure, not to mention exercise guilt and ghetto supermarkets), you cut her some fucking slack. Second of all, I just spent an evening upping my treadmill incline and throwing elbows to get the last of the discounted Lean Cuisine. The last thing I needed was some cabbie in a bead seat making me feel stupid. And his window was open.
“You are an asshole!” I screamed, surprising even myself.
“No! You asshole!”
And then, I lost it. “I am NOT asshole. I’m taking two seconds to get my shit out of my car and go home. You will not disrespect me, you fucking piece of shit.”
“No! You piece of shit, stupid bitch!”
Oh my god. People were peeking from behind curtains, we were screaming so loud. He sped off, leaving me in a wake of his dust and Drakkar Noir as I fumed over my groceries.
I stumbled home, dropping microwave popcorn and green onions along the way, pathetically collapsing at my front door in a state of physical and emotional exhaustion.
Christ, I thought to myself. I bet this shit never happens on Muni…