SAN FRANSISCO & THE RIDE-SHARE FROM HELL

Another of my earliest memories of life in San Fransisco, was of the commute from across the Bay, through the countryside, into Oakland and then under the Bay Bridge to San Fransisco. From Concord, where we decided to live, it was about a 45 minutes ride on the BART (assuming no problems with the train) or about 30 minutes by vehicle, using the multi passenger lane. Like everyone else commuting into San Fran from across the Bay, I tried each and every way available, to get to work. They all had their negatives. There was just no easy way to do it.

First I tried driving by myself, so that I had a vehicle with which to escape towards freedom with the least possible delay after work each day. It also allowed me to go to work at any time I wished, and not have to wait for anyone or anything else. That had some beauty, but very quickly became a problem. Once arriving in the city, the finding of a parking spot was an issue. The ones closest to the office were expensive and crowded. Sometimes I needed to walk 10 minutes from where I could find parking to the office and then 10 minutes back each night to start the journey home.

Traffic also posed a difficulty. Both directions on my commute were with the traffic, and not being able to use the multi-passenger lane, I was stuck in some major jam ups at the Bay bridge in Oakland. If I did not leave early enough in the morning, then the traffic was horrendous, and if I did not stay late enough in the office in the evening, getting out of town was difficult. My work days quickly became 12 hours long.

Next up was the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) train. It left from Concord, but I still had to drive my vehicle to the station to catch a train. Then line up and wait for a train. This also presented the problem that if Deysi needed the car, she either had to get herself and our daughter up and drop me off at the BART station. Or find a way, to get to the car, if she wanted to go later. The trains going in-bound were not so much of a problem for seating, in that we were the first stop on the journey and it was never full by then. Coming back home was another issue altogether. My office was the first stop once arriving in town, but then it was the last stop leaving in the afternoon.

I quickly added a new word to my vocabulary, straphanger, and quickly became one! Oh how I hated riding, standing up, crushed against hot bodies of people that hated me and everyone else on the train. I became immune and even found a way to read or snooze hanging from that cursed strap. But, hold it, that was not even the worst. It was the BART Operations that brought me the closest to ending it all, many times. Each and every time I was a little late for work that evil machine had a break down or some other form of delay. They had more excuses than an airline! This annoying voice used to come over the loudspeakers and apologize for the delay and promise it would be resolved soon.

On the return trips, hanging onto my strap and knowing that Deysi was waiting to pick me up, this beast would invariably encounter a problem in the tunnel under the Bay. Sometimes I would be an hour or two late arriving at home. Of course this was always my fault! I hated that train. So a solution finally presents itself.

A buddy with whom I worked, and had worked with in Japan (the hubby of the blue chicken rescuer), came up with a great solution. Looking back, I should have put a bullet in him right there and then. He had found out about a ride-share that would pick us up reasonably close to home, zip thru the multi user lane and into our office in 30 minutes flat. It also had two empty seats, just looking for fresh meat. Wow, the answer to our prayers where do we sign up? So we did. The first morning we get to the pickup area, and along comes a van that holds 11. We hop on and the two remaining seats are right at the back and means that to get in we have to put our butts right in everyone’s face while we squeeze past.

I noticed, while extruding myself into my spot, that we were the only men onboard. When we get seated, this women stands up and reads us out a set of rules! Right at the top was no passing of gas anywhere on the van by male members of the team. Hold it, don’t women pass gas? Apparently not! So, comfortably ensconced, I am ready to enjoy the ride, when one of my co-riders started a lengthy diatribe on the evils of the male species. Not to be outdone, another starts on how we (my friend and I) have probably been personally responsible for ruining the world as well, and then the rest all pitch in. Geezus, I thought what did I sign up for? Maybe the Women’s Liberation Cult, or more probably The Evil Old Man Haters Club.

Feeling roundly abused and stripped of my manhood, I made it to work and tried to tell myself “nah, couldn’t have been that bad”. But it was, on the way home, now that they knew us intimately, they really started in on the male species (the disgusting little, sex driven animals, and the poor things that had to put up with us at home). It got worse over the next few days. Now a lot of you know me, and know that I am an non-opinionated, open, live and let live, type person, without any sorts of negative feelings about anyone or anything, right? But this abuse I just could not take. We rode for a week, didn’t talk, shrunk down in our corner and me glaring the whole time at my friend.

Well it did bring me to a solution. I decided very quickly that although I hated BART with an all consuming passion, I by far out hated the ride-share. We were outta there and for the rest of my time I rode the train to and from work.