the muni pimp

yoga was good tonight...i finally did this backwards bridge thing where you bend over backwards and support yourself with your hands and feet. it's much harder than it looks, not to mention quite painful. but as soon as i did it, i grinned to myself and whispered "YES!" to myself...because it was a goal i finally achieved and now i can go onto the next one. it was quite a personal triumphant moment, one that won't be forgotten anytime soon, that's for sure.

my aching back, arms, and shoulders are gonna be reminding me for a few days now.

pain and bone-popping aside, this put me in a nice mellow mood, actually. however, i didn't want to stand on the corner of 16th and rhode island waiting for the damn 10, so i opted instead to take the 19 puke to the metro because i was kind of hungry and i just wanted to go home. i knew i was opening myself up to all sorts of crazy stuff, but hey...every day is an adventure for me, so why not?

the 19 was uneventful...just kind of filthy with sunflower seed shells everywhere and sticky stains of questionable origin all over the floor. i was sitting in the back of the bus with my "don't you dare think about sitting next to me" expression on my face. it served me well. a homeless woman, flitting around the bus, chatting to passenger after passenger like it was a rolling cocktail lounge, decided she wanted to flirt with me. it would have been fine, had she been oh, 40 years younger, had showered in the past week or so, and had some teeth so i could understand what the hell she was talking about. i swear, every word that came from her mouth sounded like a moaning fart, like some demented, 19-polk muni language. i would have laughed but that would have encouraged her to sit next to me. i wasn't gonna have that.

finally, the bus got to market street, and down i went into the metro station. chris called me as i was about to go to the lower level, which made me miss the train that was pulling out of the station just as i got to the bottom of the stairs. so i sat there for about 15 minutes...listening to the automated muni voice drone on and on and on...announcing countless outbound trains.

ding, dong. "outbound trains. one car. k. in 2 minutes. one car. j. in 3 minutes. two car. n. n. in 7 minutes."

i smiled...the n-judah is always an interesting line. all of a sudden, i hear the sound i've been waiting for.

bong, bong. "inbound train. two car. mission bay. in 2 minutes." mission bay? whoo-hoo! it's gonna be an n-judah! i heard the howling of the train in the tunnel, and stood up. it was a little crowded...not too bad, full of interesting people. there were a bunch of flight attendants on there...i knew they were flight attendants from the uniforms, rolling suitcases, and their well-groomed appearances. oh, and they were extremely effeminate. one of them was kind of cute so i made my way to the front of the car to get a better look at him. they all seemed to be chatting and heavily flirting with a young guy in his early twenties, wearing a dallas cowboys baseball cap, a white sweatshirt, and white sweatpants. it sounded eavesdroppable, so i positioned myself accordingly. however, just as i did that, the whole gaggle of gay flight attendants exited at the powell station, but mr. dallas cowboys stayed on.

then he turned his attention to me, looking me up and down several times.

now, i know this because after living in san francisco for 8 years, i've developed the "homogay peripheral vision" that allows me to see all sorts of things without directly looking at them. it's total awareness of what's going on around you while appearing to have an intense conversation with someone, a skill i've honed at countless parties and evenings at horrible bars in the castro.

namely, badlands.

to be honest, i normally don't strike up conversations on public transportation, but if someone talks to me or asks me something, i'll be social, cordial, and pleasant. the only time i ever spoke to someone first was when i pulled a tourist's checkbook/wallet out of his rear pocket and handed it to him, telling him he'd either better put it in his front pocket or put it in his wife's purse. i wasn't doing it to be a jerk, i just didn't want it to be stolen by someone who would actually keep it. oh, and i also fix your tag on your shirt if it's sticking up in the back. after asking permission first, of course. so mr. dallas cowboys looked like he was about 22 years old, fresh off the boat from iowa or something. he was eyeing me, my butt, my crotch, my gym bag, and my rolled-up yoga mat. he took a deep breath, and i knew he was about to make his move.

"do you do yoga at 24-hour fitness?" he finally blurted out.

oh god, here we go. the old, "what gym to YOU belong to" pickup line. it's the oldest one in the book.

"nope," i replied.

"crunch?"

"nope."

"hmmm...where then?"

"world gym over in potrero hill."

"oh, i've heard of that place!"

oh please, you have not. "really?"

"yeah! i belong to crunch now, they gave me a discount because i'm a student. i guess they just want younger guys there." he then gave me this little "wink-wink" thing.

"i used to belong to crunch, those douchebags charged me $85 a month."

"i only pay $50!"

you douchebag. "good deal, man."

"yeah, i just moved here a few weeks ago. that's why i'm just talking to you randomly on the subway!"

ya think? i thought you had lived here for years.

"people think it's wierd, but how else am i gonna meet people?"

he had a point. "i just usually drop my pants and urinate on people i think are attractive. either that or stomp on their foot," i replied.

"huh?"

"nothing."

we then rode in silence for a few seconds, then he asked me, "hey, when do we get to powell street station?"

"dude, you missed it. it was the last stop."

"oh fuck!"

now listen here pottymouth, we don't use that kind of language here on the n-judah. that's strictly reserved for the 22-fillmore or 14-mission. "don't worry about it, just get off here at montgomery street, walk across the platform, and take the next outbound train to powell."

"okay. so...where are YOU getting off?"

oh PLEASE. the old, "oops i missed my stop may i hang out with you" routine. fighting the urge to say, "in your mouth," i replied, "montgomery."

"you live around here?"

"county jail, down on bryant street. i broke out 2 hours ago."

"i thought you were at yoga."

"i did that after i broke out."

"oh."

i gave him my best charles manson grin.

"my name is kevin. what's yours?" he said, sticking out his hand.

offering mine in return, i told him, "chadiqua."

"chadiqua?"

"yeah, my mom is black."

he laughed at that one. "we should hang out sometime." after squeezing my hand for about 10 seconds too long, he released it.

"i'm not that interesting, actually," i replied. "or so i've been told."

he paused for a second, and then that muni voice announced the next train, ironically, an n-judah.

"welcome to san francisco." i shook his hand firmly, smiling genuinely, then turned around, and walked off.