A couple of Saturdays ago, I happily boarded BART at 24th and Mission to head downtown for some serious shopping. I was flying solo, the sun was shining, Anthropologie was calling my name…I was happy.

I stepped onto BART, surveyed the seat situation, and chose a row right in front of the door between the cars. I moved to the inside seat, trying to be a considerate BART rider.

At 16th and Mission a shabbily dressed man boarded the car and plopped down right next to me with force, taking up more than his allotted seat. I edged closer to the wall. He rummaged through his bevy of plastic bags until he found what he was searching for: an ancient-looking, jumbo-size can of Vienna Sausages. With a pop that lid was off, and sausage juice began to fly–some towards me even! I moved as far away as I could from this man as he went to town on his snack. He methodically whipped out each sausage, one-by-one, shaking the excess juice around the car and licking his fingers.

I really didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I’ve smelled worse and seen worse…but this was the first (and hopefully only) time that cold Vienna Sausage juice had been flung in my direction.

This dude was almost done with his snack when we pulled into Powell and I politely said “Excuse me” so I could get past him. He was visibly irritated to have his dinner interrupted in such a way. I was visibly irritated to have been showered with drops of processed meat juice.

Back out in the sunshine, I shook it off (no pun intended) and proceeded to enjoy my shopping trip. No point in crying over spilled sausage juice, right?

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Jeff Diehl at Spots Unknown alerts us to the above photo (also posted on his site). His caption:

From a pure entertainment perspective, at least.

From one Jeff to another, thanks for the tip!

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

BART rider Beth W. writes in to proffer these suggestions, no-nos you might call them, for passing through fare gates:

* Meander up to the exit, block one of the gates, and then fumble around in your pockets/bag/etc. for your ticket.
* Go through the gates quickly and successfully, then stop walking once the red plastic bits close behind you. For bonus points, start
talking on your cell phone.
* Try to go through one of the gates showing a red circle with a bar through it. Look confused when it doesn’t work. Keep trying.
* Try to get through the gates with an invalid ticket. Get irate when the machine beeps at you. Attempt to slide it through 5 or 6 more times.
* Slide your ticket into the slot for the disabled exit, then try to pick up your ticket from the (nonexistent) spot on top of the machine. If you were in a wheelchair, could you reach up there? No? Then that isn’t where your ticket is.
* Go through the gates with a large suitcase or stroller. Get stuck. Eye passersby pleadingly for help.
* Push your bicycle through the fare gates. Watch as the red gate closes on your bicycle.
* Pay with an exact fare, then throw a tantrum when the machine doesn’t give your ticket back.

What are your favorite BART fare-gate fails? Share.

Related posts:

1. Mind the Bikes on BART, Boy! Photo by Flickr user Pete Boyd BART rider Chris sends...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

I have a habit of making up little identities and life stories for people I see in public, based on nothing but their appearance, behavior and some imagination. It helps pass the time.

There’s a guy I see pretty regularly on my commute — I’ve become sort of fascinated with him despite, and indeed probably because of, knowing nothing at all about him. I think he rides the same route I do, from Glen Park to Embarcadero and back, so I see him fairly often, though I’ve never run into him outside a commute context.

I like to think that he’s Argentinian — not that I have any reason for thinking that, other than a roughly Latin look about him. Strong features, handsome beard. Slacks and colorful dress shirts, but seldom any coat. A rotation of hats, mostly short-brimmed fedoras. The whole package hangs together well. I imagine him stepping out of a milonga looking much the same, only with feathers in the hat or something. He’s got a look of ample dignity and calm about him, and he takes stairs energetically.

I’ve had trouble coming up with a life story for him, but my current speculation calls for him to have come to the States as a teenager, fleeing complex and grisly Latin American civil strife surrounding the Perón regime. He shepherded his younger sister, seeing to it that she got properly fed and educated and defending her from persecution for her accent and unusual birthmark, while building his own career up from doing odd jobs for the local butcher to devising subtle schemes for niche businesses to exploit localized market inefficiencies. On the side he took up ballroom dancing, a favorite pastime of his parents, whom he spent the next two decades trying to exfiltrate (successfully for one, tragically too late for the other) from the aforementioned war-torn and now brutally repressive Latin American regime.

By age 30, he was renowned as a dancer, and only kept his day job running a microeconomics consulting firm to keep the passion from going out of his dancing. He’s resisted carrying the silver-knobbed cane which would otherwise so complete his image, but does succumb to a weakness for it at costumed events where he can wear a top hat and ornate mask.

That little fantasy aside, I’d never actually heard him speak and built up a sort of fascination with his imagined voice (deep, rumbly and sharp-edged, with a slight German tint to his Castilian accent he can turn on or off at will).

The day after the Bay Bridge closures began, we wound up waiting through the same worrisomely long gap between trains headed downtown — the sort of delay that tells you that (a) BART’s schedules have been blown, and (b) whatever train does arrive is going to be crowded beyond the meager social coping skills of your typical BART rider. It did arrive, and it wasn’t quite that crowded, but with both Mission stations to get through, we both headed down towards the end of the car to get away from the crush in front of the doors.

24th St wasn’t too bad, but 16th was packed, and by this point classical BART Rider Crowd Coping Mode had set in, wherein everyone finds a spot that personally suits them, generally close to the door or blocking an aisle, and stands fixedly there rather than moving away from the doors and obstructing the path of anyone trying to make room for others. The Argentine Hero had moved all the way to the end of the car, in the corner, while I’d headed that way before getting blocked midway by someone’s suitcase blocking half the aisle and a middle-aged Asian woman blocking the other half. Seeing the situation at 16th, the Argentinian called out “there’s plenty of extra room down here at the end of the car, if you move down you’ll all be more comfortable.”

The accent, unfortunately, didn’t live up my expectations. And even though people were crammed around the doors having to reach past one another’s iPhones and briefcases to reach the rails, absolutely no one moved. I wasn’t at all uncomfortable where I was standing. But I waited about five seconds, and when no one moved, I did, climbing over the suitcase and slightly knocking the Asian lady to go stand behind him in the doorway to the next car. I couldn’t bear to see his dignity diminished by being ignored, even by the herd of isolated, sheepish BART commuter types.

The train made its stops, things emptied out a bit, and we both got off at Embarcadero, as usual. The last I saw of him he had lit his pipe for his walk down Spear St., the sun glinting off the sheen of his hat, off to another day of quietly supervising his minions amidst an air of calm dignified grandeur.

Related posts:

1. The Carpet Matches the Elves Photo by Flickr user Andy Hares Returning from Folsom Street...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

This post from BART and Muni rider “E” is cross-posted on Muni Diaries, which you should be reading also …

Because of a knee injury, this week I had to take the T line to Embarcadero BART station for my daily trans-Bay commute (rather than bike as I usually do because it’s faster, more convenien, and comfortable than riding Muni). While I’m thankful to have the public transportation option, I had to notice once again how incredibly rude Muni riders are in comparison to BART users.

1) Smoking marijuana right on the station platform
2) Spitting on the platform
3) Blocking the doorway
4) Talking extremely loudly on cell phones
5) Loudly telling offensive stories about drugs and sex
6) Urinating or otherwise soiling train
7) Putting feet on seats
8) Letting animals sit on seats
9) Calling me a “fucking bitch” and threatening to kick me when I asked the man to pick up his dog.

After the last incident, I walked up to a police officer in our car to ask for help and he just told me, “I’m getting off here”. Having to ride with the threatening dog owner after the police officer refused to help me was awkward, to say the least.

Why does riding Muni always feel like being taken hostage by rude, dirty, and threatening people while everyone else just looks the other way — including the police? BART doesn’t feel that way.

I’ll be glad to get back on my bike.

Related posts:

1. How many seats is enough for this bike? BART rider John sent us this photo of a cyclist...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

BART rider “just some dude” sends this disturbing, First Amendment-violating tale from the rails:

The gentleman sitting down with the newspaper was kind enough to yell out “There’s a fire on board, everybody off” and repeat it when he was getting on at Powell Street Station. Unfortunately, a few people listened to this ass and got off just as he was walking on and found a seat.

Anyone else witness this jackassery at Powell station?

Related posts:

1. Don’t be this guy. Ever. It’s really too bad that BART nixed its whole “Who’s...
2. BART ‘deal’ Photo by Flickr user wentzxxpete From BART rider Amy: I’m...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

I overheard an interesting interaction this morning on BART, between a guy bringing his bike on a Richmond train at Civic Center and a disapproving woman.

Bikes are only allowed on BART trains during commute hours at the Embarcadero station, headed to the East Bay in the morning and from the East Bay in the evening. It’s sort of an annoying rule for those with bikes, but I suppose it makes sense. The trains headed in the East Bay direction are often relatively crowded during commute hours (and therefore would be tough to accommodate more than a few people with bikes), and then empty out significantly at the Embarcadero station (and sometimes Montgomery), since so many people work in the Financial District.

This morning (Thursday 9/3) around 8:00 a.m., a guy got on a Richmond train at Civic Center with his bike. The car wasn’t very crowded, and there was enough room for him and his bike. Here’s the conversation that came up between him and woman standing nearby:

Disapproving woman: “Do they allow full bikes on BART at this station during commute hours?” [as opposed to small folding bikes]

Guy with bike: “Hmm, I guess so.”

Disapproving woman: “Actually, no, I don’t think full bikes are allowed at this station.”

Guy with bike: “Well, I’ve never had anyone stop me or tell me that it’s not allowed, so . . . ”

Disapproving woman: “Well, I think you need to do some reading about this.”

Guy with bike (politely): “Okay, thank you for the tip.”

Then, upon exit at Embarcadero, the disapproving woman said: “For future reference, you can bring your bike on here at Embarcadero. I know this because I’m a bike rider myself.” The guy smiled politely but didn’t say anything.

The interaction wasn’t angry, but was somewhat strained and uncomfortable. I wasn’t quite sure what to think. On the one hand, the woman had a point: bikes are not allowed during commute hours at any station before Embarcadero, and the rule isn’t entirely unfounded. But on the other hand, no BART employees stopped the guy from bringing his bike on the train (and seemingly hadn’t done so during previous trips). The rules for bikes on BART also aren’t prominently displayed in the stations – they’re only listed in the brochures and on the web site (right?). So is this guy at fault for bringing his bike against the rules, since they haven’t been enforced for him and he only has the word from a somewhat passive-aggressive fellow BART rider?

The “commute hours” bike rule perhaps only makes sense for the San Francisco –> East Bay morning commute and East Bay –> San Francisco evening commute. I used to ride my bike to work when I lived in the East Bay, and it was pretty irritating that I wasn’t allowed to bring my bike on the half-empty Richmond trains at the Oakland 19th St. station during commute hours. Does anyone else agree?

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

The good folks over at Tenderblog alerted us to this post on Going Underground, a London Tube blog. It’s about a group of riders in Boston who’ve banded together to raise public awareness of what they call “Man-Sitting,” or the practice of taking up more than your allotted seat on the train or bus. More power to ya, Bostonians!

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

This story came to our inbox from BART rider Nikki.

I am a daily BART rider. Generally my BART rides are uneventful. I have my bart buddy in the morning, usually my iPod and a good book. On the way home it is very much the same, except for last night. I hopped on the Fremont bound train at 5 o’clock on the dot. It was a full train and the only seat available was the handicapped seat next to the door. I sat down and figured if someone who needed it boarded I would move.

I had my head down while I was digging for something in my purse…when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that someone was getting ready to sit next to me. Generally no big deal…except that I suddenly realized that this person was practically sitting ON ME. Thigh to thigh, and very uncomfortable. When I looked up there were two ladies sharing ONE SEAT NEXT TO ME!

I absolutely do not like being that close to someone I do not know. So, I politely asked her if she could move over or simply get up as where she was sitting was not intended for 3 people. She pretended like she didn’t understand me. Great.

So I decide that I will try to scoot over some more in order to try to get a little more comfortable. Unfortunately, the lady interpreted this as her opportunity to SCOOT BACK more! I am raging at this point…and all I can think about is the disgusting idea of someone I DON’T KNOW practically sitting in my lap. We are now steadily approaching San Leandro station, when suddenly these two ladies have no idea where they are, AND amazingly enough they can now speak and understand English clear as day!

They were so far off from where they needed to be that I took quiet pleasure in the fact that they needed to be at 19th Street in Oakland and we had just stopped in San Leandro…gotta love that BART!

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

So I’m riding Bart from the Powell St. station down to Millbrae. As you could imagine it was pretty packed and standing room only. Out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of quite possibly the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen anywhere.

A woman had pulled her 3- or 4-year-old son’s pants down, pulled his little wee out, unscrewed the top of a soda bottle, stuck the little boys wee inside and then told him to pee.

The little boy stood there peeing inside of this soda bottle on a FULL train.

When the boy was done the woman put the cap back on the bottle, set it on the floor of the train, and then got off the train at the next stop.

Yes, she left the pee-filled bottle sitting on the floor.

If you’ve got a BART or Muni story you want to share, no matter what it’s about, send it us.

Photo by Flickr user Lady Ema

Related posts:

1. On the Millbrae BART at 5:35 This looks like something straight outta Muni. So says BART...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.