Sassy on the SEPTA and in the Street

And now another episode of Sassy on the SEPTA brought to you by crazy white lady in her brand new Honda on the street.
I've been trying to take the bus to work in an effort to be "green"...but on Friday I took the bus because I was getting picked up from work at noon by boyfriend Josh and friend Sam. I was kinda grumpy about it, especially when I had to stand in the aisle, but more so when this happened:
We were making one of those difficult turns down a narrow street where the white line that indicates where oncoming cars should stop at the light is purposefully far back because of the trolley's turn radius. Maybe the woman in the Honda had crept up from the line in her haste to beat the next set of poorly timed/constant red lights in Philly. Or maybe our bus driver didn't take his turn at the perfect angle. Regardless, as we made the turn it became clear that only one of us was going to make it, and we were way, way, way bigger than that brand new midnight blue Honda. She tried to back up but a truck blocked the way. She tried to move over to the right, but was cornered by the curb. Our bus inched forward, closer and closer until the bus and the Honda were parallel, one inch apart, and diagonally blocking the whole street.
At this point the truck behind the Honda backed up, drove up onto the sidewalk, and drove down it until it could get back into the street and went on its merry way. But as the passengers around me pointed out, the Honda was pegged.
Crazy white lady now earned her rep as crazy white lady in our story. She had the nerve to get out of her car and start yelling at the bus driver. "You left me no room!!!" I heard her yell. One woman in the front yelled back, "He can't yell back at you but I sure as hell can!!!" The woman stomped around, went back to her car, and put her hands on her hips as she imagined her brand new car with a swath of scrape across the entire left side.
"Oh I know she is not just standing there with her hands on her hips," one woman commented. At this point people were thinking about getting off the bus, and another bus had already come up behind us. The pressure was on.
Our bus driver, with talent and grace, very slowly reversed until the woman could inexpertly, and awkwardly reverse her car, and we drove away with a cheer. I stole a seat from someone who had considered getting off and sat down with a sigh.

Sassy and homeless on the SEPTA

Welcome to another edition of Sassy On the SEPTA.
‘Cause people still be getting sassy on the SEPTA.
I preface this story by saying that I am a case manager and that part of my job is to go to my client’s homes. Most people drive to their cars to home visits, but I had run out of gas the day before and had decided to take the bus instead of putting money into the tank. As I left someone’s home at 5:15 I immediately regretted this decision as the rain turned into torrential downpour. I ran to the closest 33 bus stop and asked a woman already waiting there if I could share her umbrella. Finally the bus came, and soaking wet I stepped up and took a seat in the front. Turns out it was kind of raining in the bus as well and I switched sides to get away from a leak. A woman got on a few stops later, reeking of homelessness. She had the grey hood of her sweatshirt up and beady little eyes. She explained to the bus driver that she didn’t have any money but that she had got beat up in an alley and needed to get away from there. No matter, the bus driver told her she couldn’t ride the bus for free. The 33 starts in North Philly and has a different crowd that the 49 bus. No one on this bus was paying her fare. She sat down and the bus driver said, “Fine, we can wait until you get off.” People started shouting at her that she didn’t even want to take this bus, that she should take a different bus, and she shouted, ”What bus should I take?” “They said you should take the 68,” I replied and every one quickly yelled at me not to talk to her. Oops…trying to blend in while being the only white person on the bus FAIL. “What bus should I take?” she kept shouting at different people. Fortunately, for my soaking wet and blushing self, this bus driver was bluffing and in about 30 seconds said, “Fine, but as soon as we run into a police officer you gettin’ off this bus.” At this point the homeless woman changed her tune. Literally. She was silent for a second, looked around, and then started to fake cry at the top of her lungs like a three year old. “Whahhhhhh” she cried. The bus driver broke the tension as he broke out into a loud guffaw. Everyone else started laughing as her wails grew louder, eyes dry as the Sahara. The bus driver said, “Anyone got a camera? Someone should be taping this!! We have got to put this on Youtube!” She kept it up for a good while and the bus driver repeated his disbelief that no one was taping this, and eventually she stopped and moved to the back. I remarked to the bus driver that I was new to Philly but that I kept having these crazy experiences on the bus. “That’s the 33!” he replied.

Sassy on the SEPTA

People be getting sassy on the SEPTA. What I thought was an anomaly has become a trend.
People be getting sassy on the SEPTA.

the SEPTA

It started in my second week in Philly. I had taken the bus to Redding Terminal Market for some super fresh produce at super low prices. After navigating some construction I finally got on the 49 bus on Arch St and settled in to my seat in the front next to a couple of tired looking commuters. As we turned onto 22nd and headed north we pulled over to a stop and two young men got on. They explained in sassy tones with a stereotypically gay sounding inflection that they had just been robbed so they didn’t have their fare. The bus driver told them they could not ride the bus for free, and could they please step down? No, they informed him, they could not. The bus driver sat back and announced, “Fine, then we goin’ to sit here until you do.” A groan erupted from the already irritable passengers. Someone stepped up and paid one kid’s fare but no one else was willing to spare two dollars for sassy punk numero dos.
Great, I had to get on the one damn bus where the bus driver had decided to take a stand. My first SEPTA Mexican standoff. Being as shy as I am, I was the first of the passengers to pipe up. “Can you guys please just take a different bus?” It was all another young woman sitting across from me needed. “Yea,” she joined in. “Everyone else had their two dollars, why don’t you?” The guy that had taken a seat after someone paid his fair stood up and got in this woman’s face. “Um, because we got robbed!!” he sassed back. “We just came from the police station!” Stone faced she replied, “You know, I really don’t believe you.” And then all hell broke loose. “You don’t know anything bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch!” was all I really heard as he wagged his finger in front of her face. Then the kid in the front started to yell at the bus driver. “You so stupid! You letting all these people sit here for two dollars. You so stupid. You know why? Because you work for SEPTA. That’s right. You didn’t’ get your degree. I did, I went to Temple…blah blah blah.”
Wow, I think silently to myself, that just proved how meaningless a bachelor’s degree has become.
This was too much for most people. They started to get off the bus, walking seeming a better alternative to sitting and listen to some punk berate an honest SEPTA employee. As the crowd pushed their way off the bus a tall man followed. I thought he was getting off but instead he pushed them off with the crowd. “Who the fuck are you?” Shouted one of the punks?” “You don’t want to know,” replied the tall man.
As we started moving again a halfhearted cheer went up from the remaining passengers and we headed up 22nd. Whew, I thought, that was crazy. And then it got crazier. The guys started sprinting, uphill, after the bus, in flip flops. And these were some athletic fellows. The ran after us all the way to Fairmont, as we passed poor old ladies who didn’t understand why the bus driver stopped at the stop sign they stood in front of, but refused to open the door for them. They didn’t notice the grinning fools behind them. When we reached the traffic light at the Penitentiary they ran in front of the bus like they had been every time we stopped, but this time there was a loud bang. And a circular crack on the windshield in front of the bus driver’s face. The punks ran east and all that was left in their wake was a brick in the middle of the intersection.
“Oh hell no, I am not getting physically assaulted today!” Said that woman across from me as though today had been a tougher day than most and on other days this would have been totally ok. She got on her phone with 911, and the next thing I knew there were cop cars, and the bus driver was getting talked down by his supervisor. Even more people started to get off but the bus driver ushered them back on and we started back on our route fairly quickly. When I pulled the yellow rope at Girard I thought about what I would say to the bus driver as I got off. “Thank you sir,” I said. “I’m really sorry about all that,” he replied. “No, I’m sorry, those guys were jerks,” I said as I stepped down.
Stay tuned for more SEPTA sagas.