Vignettes is a new, on-going series that I’ll be publishing every so often, highlighting some of my favorite scenes I happen to catch in the city. I hope you enjoy.
The woman that got on the bus was old, but spritely- something of a common thread among seniors in Chinatown, who I catch in droves everyday combing through incredibly fresh produce. She was also dressed impeccably, another theme among the older folk in the neighborhood. (Such a strong theme in fact, that there’s an entire book on it!) Draped comfortably in a neon pink fleece and well hemmed charcoal capris, she made her way to sit down next to me, near the back corner of the 1 California. Her shoes were a pair of white Asics, ones that were now being co-opted by street style influencers across the globe as a symbol of post-fashionable irony. For her, however, they simply seemed like a comfortable way to get about town.
Nosily, I marveled at the bounty she secured at City Super, whose logo glistened as she put their branded plastic bags down. Keeping some social distance, she put a bag of oranges between us, a neatly packaged bag including tofu on her right, and in between her capri’s, a loose container of bright red tomatoes. The tomatoes were stunning, looking almost as if they were ripped straight out of a Michelangelo painting. I don’t know if Michelangelo ever painted tomatoes, he was probably too busy depicting Jesus Christ or whatever, but truly, these were some good looking tomatoes.
As we made our way up through Nob Hilll, I felt a pang of jealousy. Here was this fashionable senior with a plethora of nature’s bounty, living her best life. Then there was me: a guy in a vintage rugby shirt I paid too much for, about to see what the new selection of frozen dinners from Trader Joe’s was. It was, in the very best way, deeply humbling.
I gave her a soft smile, and continued gazing out the window, wondering how to salvage my cool factor. We continued on for about two blocks, and then the 1 California, as it always does, took a big dip downwards Leavenworth. As the bus craned downward, so did a few unknowing passengers near the front of the bus. Quickly after, disaster struck.
All at once, every single tomato in the woman’s bag went flying. There was a moment of disbelief, shared by every single person near the back of the bus that day. For a split second, we simply did not process the reality of what we were seeing. Time stood still for exactly one moment.
Then, the woman cried out.
“NO! Ahhhhhhhhhh my god……..” she let out, quickly getting out of her seat, as tomato after tomato rolled along the cold, unforgiving industrial grey floor that grounds every MUNI vehicle. I sprung out of my seat as well, hoping to salvage a few of these Renaissance looking vegetables. (Which are actually fruits, maybe.) I ran, almost too fast, to the middle step-way, and stopped two of them from rolling along any further, ending their journey to nowhere, mirroring Sisyphus, if he rolled not a rock, but a juicy tomato.
As I caught one near the middle of the 1 California and came back to return it to the woman, I heard a collective laughter start near our section of the bus. The situation, as dramatic as it appeared, was also, genuinely hilarious. All the tomatoes were retrieved and brought back to their rightful owner, and the woman breathed a deep sigh of relief once she sat back down.
Because I am a caricature of myself, I looked over to someone my age sitting across from us, and without any ounce of self control, blurted out “You just don’t see this anymore!”
I can’t remember the last time I heard people on MUNI collectively have a laugh at something. Those moments seemed plentiful when I was growing up here, but as time marched on something shifted, and it got more and more rare. It nearly felt like a throwback to a pre-pandemic scene of San Francisco, when a group of people weren’t afraid to embrace a moment. It made me smile, and as I looked over to the woman, now putting her tomatoes on top of the bag next to me, she did as well.