Tag Archives: 22 fillmore

The 49er Fan on the 22-Fillmore, 21 January 2013

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Good Evening:

The lanky, 50-ish African-American with eight inch long dreadlocks boarded the back of the 22-Fillmore bus without paying his fare, but he stood about six foot four and was drunk and in a very good mood, so no one seemed to mind.

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“Are there some San Francisco 49er fans on this bus? I said, are there some 49er fans on this bus?!  You sir! You sir, can I ask you something?”

He addressed a 50-ish Caucasian man with a grey beard and two earbuds stuck firmly into his ears. Unable to ignore our loud 49er fan who literally stood over him, he removed one.

“Are you a 49er fan?!”

The man with the grey beard nodded and put the earbud back in.

“That’s what I thought! We are all 49er fans on this bus! See! You’re all smiling now!”

Not that I noticed.

“We’re all happy the 49ers are going back to the Super Bowl! And we’re going to win, baby! Yessirree Bob! The 49ers never lose the Super Bowl! We have won every time and we’re going to win again! What do you folks drink?  You sir! You sir, can I ask you something?”

He addressed Mr. Grey Beard again, who had two earbuds re-stuck firmly into his ears. Unable once again to ignore our loud 49er fan who literally stood over him, he removed one.

“What do you drink, sir?”

The man with the grey beard said something and put the earbud back in.

“Water? You drink water? You know what kind of water you drink? You drink 49er water! Yeah, you drink 49er water! The 49ers are going to be Super Bowl champions again! Yessiree Bob, we are going to the Super Bowl! New Orleans, are you ready? You better be because we are coming to win our sixth Super Bowl, baby! Look at all these big smiles around here.”

Not that I noticed, but never mind me.

The Minimally Artistic Art of Instant Minimalist Art, Blue Series

The Minimally Artistic Art of Instant Minimalist Art, Blue Series

“There better be big smiles because this is the 22-Fillmore! Know what that is? This is the 49er bus! Hey where are we? Where are we?!You sir! You sir, can I ask you something?”

He addressed Mr. Grey Beard again, who had two earbuds re-stuck firmly into his ears. Unable once again to ignore our loud 49er fan who literally stood over him, he removed one.

“What street did we just cross, sir?”

“Fell Street,” said the man, and he put the earbud back in.

“Fell Street?! No, this isn’t Fell Street, this is Fell-ty Niner Street! Heh, heh! Hear what I just did there? This is my stop, my stop, Mr. Bus Driver.  Go 49ers!”

The fan disembarked. At which point, for the first time, everyone on the bus finally smiled and told each other that yes, they were 49er fans. It’s funny–no one told the 49er fan.

Vonn Scott Bair

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Master & Acolyte on the 22-Fillmore

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Good Evening:

I was coming home from the Rainbow Grocery, my favorite radical left-wing cooperatively-owned vegetarian grocery store in San Francisco, and I couldn’t help but notice one guy sitting across the aisle. He was a big, burly guy, about 25 years old, heavy but strong looking, as if he might have played on the defensive line back in high school. But that’s not why I noticed him; I noticed him first because of his dark gray porkpie hat, at least 3 sizes too small.

And second, I noticed him because of his phone call. Naturally, I have no idea what the caller said to him. I give his half of the conversation to you without commentary, as best as I can remember.

“Hello, Master. Yes, Master. I know, Master. You are correct, Master. Yes, I know, Master. Yes, Master. Yes, Master. Yes, Master.

“Didn’t you get the email attachments I sent you?!

“Yes. Master.

“I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry, Master.

“Yes, Master.

“I am perfect, Master. I am perfect, Master. I am perfect, Master. I am perfect, Master. I am perfect, Master. I am perfect, Master. I am perfect, Master. I am perfect, Master. I am perfect, Master. I am perfect, Master. I am perfect, Master.

“Thank you, Master.”

He ended the phone call, turned to the person sitting next to him and said, “I think that went really well.”

Vonn Scott Bair

 

The Connection

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Good Evening:

As they walked out of the wine store together I pegged them as a financially secure, upper-middle class couple, each about 60 years old, both about five foot eight, the woman’s hair a distinguished well-coiffed grey, the gentleman’s hair salt and pepper, grey at the temples. They organized their packages, she lightly eased her right hand around his left elbow, and they walked down Fillmore Street, either to their home or to their next chore.

Doesn’t sound like much, does it?

Nor was I impressed at the time, riding in the back of the 22-Fillmore to my beloved Haight, but the more I thought upon this little scene, the more interesting it became. You see, neither of them was looking at the other before or during the moment of connection. She was checking her cell phone for messages, and looking away from him. He was organizing their bags of purchases so that he could carry them with his right hand, and looking away from her. She paid no attention to him, he paid no attention to her. Each seemed oblivious to the other’s location or even existence. And yet she knew exactly where he and his left elbow would be, and he knew exactly she and her right hand would be, and when I wrote that her right hand lightly eased around his left elbow, I mean to emphasize easy and ease. As if they have practiced that simple connection for most of their lives–except of course that they have practiced that simple connection for most of their lives.

And that’s my current definition of a good, solid relationship.

Vonn Scott Bair