Travelogue #11
Greg's Gift
The ride with Greg was unusual. First, he was playing medieval music which skipped on an old 10-second delay CD player. Second, our conversation went along in a way that's similar to Good Morning America when two correspondents have a brief tape delay by location. In fact, that's a good description--we were in two different places. Still, Greg offered me a Twix bar selflessly from his bag, told me about his landscaping business he had just started after the busy summer season, and drove my impoverished ass from Canyonville, OR to Ashland, OR.
On the way leaving his car in a parking lot, he said, "I want to give you something." He disappeared into the passenger side door, into the glove box, and handed me a box of post card depicting the mountains of the Pacific Northwest. It was an odd gesture, but still moving. Fuck it; I'll admit it: I teared up. We shook hands and I dug behind a dumpster for some cardboard to write "San Francisco" on.
Who pays for BART?
BART, or Bay Area Rapid Transit, is the train system which connects Oakland, Berkeley, and San Francisco (among others). Its also fucking expensive, with a one-way ride from Downtown Berkeley to the Castro netting you almost $4. But fear not! Thanks to these gutter punks, who violently revolted at the idea of paying for BART at all--"who pays for BART? You don't pay for BART!" And, its true--if you're one of those impoverished citizens--here's what you do:
1) Go to any station during the busy times. Try to look inconspicuous.
2) Take the elevator, NOT the red turnstile.
3) Ride the train to your destination and disembark whenever...
4) Take the elevator up, NOT up the stairs!
And, that's how its done. Fairly simple, and especially with the lack of funding for BART police, you can abuse it as much as you want.
Standing In For His Son
After landing in Eugene at the University of Oregon's campus' library, I asked the first man I saw about where the elevator. "Its closed," he replied sharply, to which I meekly asked where another one downtown. "Its... come, I'll show you." I followed the man, warily, helping rearrange some belongings in his van so that I could sit in the front seat. He explained that he was a teacher in Music and, if memory serves me correctly, Physics. And, that if I was interested, he would be playing pipe organ at a church on 15th and Patterson at 10am on Sunday. To me, it was Christmas coming early.
When we both took the elevator up at the library, he cornered me in a small hallway. I watched him dig into his wallet as he began his speech:
"My son is doing something very similar to what you are doing, traveling around and playing music across the country. Today, you're his stand-in," to which he handed me a $10 bill, disappearing up the stairs. I gave him a second or two headstart to get lost in the crowd and enjoy his anonymity of good deed. The next day, I promised myself to see his concert--besides, it had been a while since I had been in a church.
Alex
When Alex picked me up from Salem to Eugene, he was doing 77 miles per hour. Immediately, a police car had put on its lights. "Oh, this can't be for me!" he mantra'd, pulling into the shoulder. This was 2 minutes into the ride, and we had barely gotten introduced. Hell, I didn't even know his name was Alex until after the cop pulled us over. Worse, because of the traffic, the cop tapped on my window for license/registration/inquisition. Learning from my previous experiences at the Canadian border, I kept my mouth shut.
Alex was given another ticket--his third this year--and then we talked about Bay Area rappers.
Bay Area Tactics Against the Homeless
Best way to get rid of the most vicious of bums? Don't put any water fountains in populated areas. Don't put any public bathrooms except in the most strategic of locations. Put numerical locks on all the bathrooms of the college campus' bathrooms. Make curfew for all shelters at 6:30pm. Pretty scary stuff, and the only thriving variety of bums that I had seen were of the hardened SuperBum variety, lost in drugs and gone babbling-crazy in poverty.
Greg's Gift
The ride with Greg was unusual. First, he was playing medieval music which skipped on an old 10-second delay CD player. Second, our conversation went along in a way that's similar to Good Morning America when two correspondents have a brief tape delay by location. In fact, that's a good description--we were in two different places. Still, Greg offered me a Twix bar selflessly from his bag, told me about his landscaping business he had just started after the busy summer season, and drove my impoverished ass from Canyonville, OR to Ashland, OR.
On the way leaving his car in a parking lot, he said, "I want to give you something." He disappeared into the passenger side door, into the glove box, and handed me a box of post card depicting the mountains of the Pacific Northwest. It was an odd gesture, but still moving. Fuck it; I'll admit it: I teared up. We shook hands and I dug behind a dumpster for some cardboard to write "San Francisco" on.
Who pays for BART?
BART, or Bay Area Rapid Transit, is the train system which connects Oakland, Berkeley, and San Francisco (among others). Its also fucking expensive, with a one-way ride from Downtown Berkeley to the Castro netting you almost $4. But fear not! Thanks to these gutter punks, who violently revolted at the idea of paying for BART at all--"who pays for BART? You don't pay for BART!" And, its true--if you're one of those impoverished citizens--here's what you do:
1) Go to any station during the busy times. Try to look inconspicuous.
2) Take the elevator, NOT the red turnstile.
3) Ride the train to your destination and disembark whenever...
4) Take the elevator up, NOT up the stairs!
And, that's how its done. Fairly simple, and especially with the lack of funding for BART police, you can abuse it as much as you want.
Standing In For His Son
After landing in Eugene at the University of Oregon's campus' library, I asked the first man I saw about where the elevator. "Its closed," he replied sharply, to which I meekly asked where another one downtown. "Its... come, I'll show you." I followed the man, warily, helping rearrange some belongings in his van so that I could sit in the front seat. He explained that he was a teacher in Music and, if memory serves me correctly, Physics. And, that if I was interested, he would be playing pipe organ at a church on 15th and Patterson at 10am on Sunday. To me, it was Christmas coming early.
When we both took the elevator up at the library, he cornered me in a small hallway. I watched him dig into his wallet as he began his speech:
"My son is doing something very similar to what you are doing, traveling around and playing music across the country. Today, you're his stand-in," to which he handed me a $10 bill, disappearing up the stairs. I gave him a second or two headstart to get lost in the crowd and enjoy his anonymity of good deed. The next day, I promised myself to see his concert--besides, it had been a while since I had been in a church.
Alex
When Alex picked me up from Salem to Eugene, he was doing 77 miles per hour. Immediately, a police car had put on its lights. "Oh, this can't be for me!" he mantra'd, pulling into the shoulder. This was 2 minutes into the ride, and we had barely gotten introduced. Hell, I didn't even know his name was Alex until after the cop pulled us over. Worse, because of the traffic, the cop tapped on my window for license/registration/inquisition. Learning from my previous experiences at the Canadian border, I kept my mouth shut.
Alex was given another ticket--his third this year--and then we talked about Bay Area rappers.
Bay Area Tactics Against the Homeless
Best way to get rid of the most vicious of bums? Don't put any water fountains in populated areas. Don't put any public bathrooms except in the most strategic of locations. Put numerical locks on all the bathrooms of the college campus' bathrooms. Make curfew for all shelters at 6:30pm. Pretty scary stuff, and the only thriving variety of bums that I had seen were of the hardened SuperBum variety, lost in drugs and gone babbling-crazy in poverty.
