Dear Muni, you're a hot tranny mess.

Photo courtesy of Flickr

Muni, you suck.

Simple as that.

Nary a day goes by you're not late, or you don't get stuck for 5 minutes, or "traffic" in the Central Subway (huh? traffic underground?) or a "signal problem" causes your over-crowded cars with either broken ACs or broken doors (remember that time you had us all trapped on Church Street for 10 minutes because the freakin' DOORS couldn't open?! Remember?!) to slowly, slowly, slowly inch their way toward the light at the end of the tunnel.

But sometimes, Muni, sometime your so f*cked up you actually work.

Case in point.

Tuesday, walking to Van Ness Station, I descend underground to the dreaded sound of a female Muni agent over the public address system;

::Attention Muni Patrons::

(this is RARELY good when you hear this...)

::The delay at West Portal has been cleared, outbound service is operating again::

(phew!)

But of course, the delay means madness downstairs. Dozens of people anxiously awaiting the long-delayed outbound J K L M or N train to whisk...no...not whisk, trudge, them home.

I get down there and look up at the Next Muni electronic display.

Next J-train, 5 minutes.

"Not bad!" I think, but I'm skeptical as any savy Muni patron should be.

Sure enough a minute goes by and that 5 minutes devolves into 8 minutes. Not a good sign.

But then, to my confusion, the automated announcer says that a J is "approaching." Hmmm.

So, I do what I've learned to do, and decide to hop on whatever train comes and then take it as close to Noe Valley as possible - then bus or walk from there.

While the electronic signs at the station flash "J-train approaching" a clearly marked K train pulls into the station.

As I step into the crowded, hot, smelly car, the conductor says on the loud speaker,

::Attention, this is NOT a J-train, it is a K-train! I repeat. This is NOT a J-train::

"Oh well, I think." While some of the K-train passengers snicker at the conductors stern voice and need to explain something which seems so obvious from all the K-train signs glowing on the vehicle.

We slowly pull out of the station and creep through the tunnel going about an inch every minute. The train then grinds to a standstill. Minutes go by. The overweight teenage guy sitting near where I'm standing begins to sweat, fidget and audibly groan. The four year old girl standing nearby with her severely 80's banged mom looks at him with concern. I hit my head against the window and close my eyes.

::Attention, I've just been informed by Central Control that this train will be transferring onto the J-line route. I repeat, this train is now a J."

The entire over-crowded formerly K-train groans in unison. As the newly christened J-train leaves the tunnel (K trains don't do this until much later along the route) the non-English speaking passengers slowly realize that something has gone terribly amiss. Elderly Chinese women in front of me desperately try to communicate with the Russian women sitting near them to figure out why their Ingleside-bound train is suddenly veering toward Noe Valley. Everyone else begins to shuffle and gather their belongings as we approach the intersection of Church and Market so that they can all get off the train and head back into the Church Street Subway station to begin their Muni Adventure - Part II.

All the angry K-train people hop off and make a beeline toward Market Street, leaving behind about 10 pleasantly surprised undercover J-trainers, myself included.

I meanwhile, take a seat, roll my eyes, and smile; thinking about the old theory that given a million monkeys with a million typewriters, one of them would eventually type up a Shakespearean play. That's you, Muni. You freakin hot mess. You tease. Magically turning K's into J's, and letting the wrong train take me the right way home.

Is there some kind of life lesson in all this? Maybe.

Maybe this was Muni's way of giving back from all the time it's taken away.

Maybe this was Muni Karma.

Nah.

Hey Muni, your Mom called.

Dear Mom.

I don't know whether to feel embarrassed or honored that you keep sending my grandpa-related blog posts to the entire freakin' family via e-mail. I guess I feel both. Don't worry, I'm not "mad at you" you silly mom, you. ;-)

Months have sped by, but he's still very much on my mind. That said, I guess it's time to dust off the old keyboard and start chronicling more of the living that's been going on in my life.