josie gets hit by a bus. again.
Our relationship with the public transportation in the city is really a love/hate type deal. On the one hand the bus and the muni and the train and the underground and whatever you want to call it are great. They take us everywhere we want to go mostly on time and with few injuries. And sometimes when you’re riding down Market and the sun is creeping up over the buildings and washing your face and you have to squint your eyes and everything is shiny shiny shiny there isn’t even anywhere you’d rather be than on the bus. On the other hand a lot of crazy ish seems to happen there, and because of this we tend to give heaving sighs and sad eyes when we talk about the way we get from here to there on the transportation provided so kindly by the city of San Francisco. For example, here is a text I recently received from Chloe: “HA! A car ran into the muni.” And my reaction to this was one of those ironic smiles that says, oh that silly muni there it goes again. And there it went again when Josie was attempting to unload her bike off the front of the 71 and the driver, apparently not realizing she was there, drove slowly but surely right into her. Josie responded to this by getting into a heated fight with the driver through the open door while I kind of waved my arms around trying to use American Sign Language to further illustrate Josie’s point. At which point the driver drove off still yelling, and I turned to Josie and said, “Looks like you got hit by a bus again.”
Enough about Josie, back to my working life. Two days ago the espresso machine, a professional grade stainless steal wonder that my boss dotes on like an heir, started leaking profusely. I noticed that the water was running all over the counter and getting mixed in with the electrical wires, which didn’t seem like such a great situation safety wise. I marched down the hall to inform the boss man that I thought we should turn off the machine, because someone, namely me the person who makes his espresso, was going to get electrocuted. He looks up from his desk and states simply, “I don’t want you to get electrocuted, but I would rather someone (you) got a little shock than to go without my espresso. If you’re so worried get some rubber-soled shoes.” Okay, he didn’t actually say that last sentence, but let’s just say it was implied.
But you see the thing that I like about my boss is that he never pretended to be cool. Most management types try to act like they are so carefree and casual, and so when they INEVITABLY show their true colors, and that color is anal-retentive, you can act all shocked and wounded and tell your friends how much you have been taken in by the man etc. At my job we don’t have all that deception and guess work; we know which one is the human embodiment of the god almighty and we worship accordingly.