A $5 Free Trip Through the Ghetto

$5. Yup, I somehow managed to only spend $5 on my "free" day. I went to the library, then to the (closed) gallery, then realized i hadn't eaten so I got an iced tea and a mini prosciutto and swiss sandwich on olive loaf from LaBoulange, and sat in the sun in the park in Hayes Valley. But, as the famous quote says, "It's not the destination, it's the journey". And boy were they right. It was quite possibly the most interesting, not to mention frightening, bus ride I've ever been on. I took the #19 down Polk St. to Civic Center to get to the library. Polk St. gets interesting enough on it's own, but it was truly highlighted by the bus ride.

First there was the angry blind lady. She appeared gentle, innocent and sweet, my usual first impression of anyone looking over 70 years of age. She had no cane, no walker, no dog, just her instincts and other four senses to guide her. It took a bit of time for her to get on the bus, understandably, and the bus driver did his best to guide her to a seat. She sat, dug through her paper bag of a purse, and combed her hair. She sat in peace, that is until walker lady came on next.

Walker lady was a sight to see. The bus stopped even longer for her, as it had to lower the steps and convert to the lift as it does for those in wheelchairs. After a longer than usual stop, walker lady appears at the front of the bus as if by magic. She's surprisingly young to be behind a walker, must have been in an accident; or a massive drug addiction that finally rendered her legs useless. Though, either way, I'm not sure why she chose a walker as her mode of assistance, because she could not even really use her legs. She really just sort of hung from the walker and stood there looking helpless and frustrated, until the only man brave enough got up and helped her over to a seat near blind lady. Walker lady lowered herself into the seat ever so slowly, of course partially sitting on blind lady. Blind lady had a few incoherent words to share with walker lady and even tried to get up from her seat, until brave guy assisted walker lady in shifting over one seat.

A decently 'normal' looking man got on the bus and sat next to me. Phew. We were getting further and further down Polk, meaning further and further into what I call 'Druggie Polk'. (See, there are four neighborhoods of Polk St. From North Point to about Sacramento is simply the lovely Polk St. that I like to associate myself with. After that comes Tranny Polk, then Druggie Polk, then Ghetto Polk. Use your best imagination. ...ah, I love San Francisco.)

As we approached the boarder of Druggie Polk and Ghetto Polk, two women (? ...you never know) got on through the back door of the bus; I'm going to guess with no bus pass and no intention to pay, and the bus driver probably knew better than to question it. They came on yapping so loud as if they were putting on a performance. The normal guy next to me started to chuckle so I turned off my iPod to hear what it was all about. Turns out? Yappy girl one was pissed at Loud girl two beause Loud girl two was making Yappy girl one pay her back for the crack she sold her a day or so prior. This argument went on thankfully for only about three blocks until they got off the bus. Normal guy continued to quietly chuckle.

The bus then turned off Polk St. and on to Eddy St. This of course worried me because I just needed to head straight down Polk until I came to Grove St. where the library is. Normal guy must have seen the concerned look on my face (realizing that I was also the youngest, only normal dressed white girl on the bus) and asked if I needed to get off the bus. "No. Well I don't know, I need to get to the library, do you know how far down it is from here?" I said.
"Oh, wow, yeah just stay on the bus, we'll go right past it."
"Thank you."

We move along through the ghetto, past boarded up liquor stores and by-the-hour motels, cardboard and shopping cart homes, and small gatherings of shady looking characters. Drug deals no doubt. Finally Normal guy taps me and said the next stop was the library. "Great! Thank you!" I replied, thankful he actually gave me correct advice, as I'd be dead by now had I gotten off where the bus turned at Eddy St.
"Ha, yeah, have fun with that, that's like the highway to hell out there!" ...mwah ah ah ah ah...I seriously swear I heard an evil echoing cackle.

Stomach turning, heart pounding, throat closing, sweat glands pumping, I put away my iPod, got out my phone and dialed 9, 1 and put my thumb over the 1 ready to dial at a moments notice (thank you Tuscon for teaching me that one), zipped up my purse, put a scowl on my face (I figured if I looked as hard as I possibly could in white girl skin and a summer dress, I'd maybe be believed that it wasn't my first terrifying trip to the ghetto) and left the bus. I wanted to run, in my head i was running, but I kept my cool. I told myself "just walk with conviction, and if I miss it, I'll just continue around the corner to City Hall and pretend that's where I meant to go". Thankfully the library has a rather large and open enterance, probably for people like me, praying to God that it would be obvious enough to not have to wander around and fear getting mugged. I ran through the main door. Ah, I made it, I'm safe in here. ...Nope. There are homeless and crazies everywhere in the lobby! How is this possible?! So I kept my head down and ran through the enterance, through the metal/stolen book detector and finally came to a rest across the foyer among the normal people. Phew, I could breathe again.

The exhibit I went to see was less than impressive. It was of two french artists that illustrate children's books, and consisted of two small glass cases filled with a copy of a book and a few oil drawings. Neat, but not at ALL worth my trek down there. So I wandered up to the top floor having no idea what I was looking for or what I'd find. Two exhibits; one titled "Rebuilding Afganistan" which housed black and white photographs of life in Afganistan (depressing) so I moved quickly onto the second which was honoring the 75th Anniversary of the New Deal and its place in San Francisco. Fascinating! Still not sure it was "worth" the adventure I had to endure to get there, but it definately took my mind off of my near death experience (I never said I wasn't dramatic).