Muni musings

Running late for work, I lock the gate behind me and double-time it down to the Church Street Muni stop. I run down the station stairs toward the gate, and as I frantically scramble for change, a guy—normal-looking, maybe a little disheveled—tries to hand me something. I look at him, brows furrowed, look at his hand, then back at him. It's his transfer. And it's valid. Weird, right?

Not really. What if we were all more like Disheveled Guy at the Church Street station? First of all, we'd save a lot of paper. Surely I'm not the only one who has two dozen wrinkled Muni stubs floating around my house. Second of all, it made me happy—not because I saved a dollar and a half, but it's satisfying so see strangers helping strangers. Like that corny insurance commercial where a guy goes out of his way to save Joe Schmoe from being flattened by a falling stack of boxes.

So tomorrow, when you're taking public transportation to work, after you've gotten off the train and are headed through the gates toward the office, hand your transfer to someone going the opposite way. It made my day. And I'm six quarters closer to buying a new alarm clock. Or maybe a Muni pass.