Ever wonder how Muni used to clean buses before they stopped giving a shit?  This right here is the 'Cyclone' Coach Cleaner, a 1958 bus/Burning Man Art Car that used to act as a giant vacuum:

This modified Motor Coach was used as an enormous vacuum cleaner to rid buses of litter left on board. Pulled along side another bus, the accordion-like seal was extended to the door and a powerful blast of air turned the bus interior into a literal cyclone of flying debris, saving hours of hand sweeping.

Uhhhhhh… rad.

[Photo and Quote via SFMTA Photo Archives]

The other night I was sitting at home when I got a text from my friend Nivek* saying, “Hey wanna come to my friends house to watch movies and drink $3,000 worth of booze purchased with food stamps?” Naturally I was all like fuuuuck yeah! and I definitely did not let the fact that I’d just eaten an entire weed truffle get in my way.

Since it was raining, I left my two-wheeled not-a-car in the garage and headed out to catch the 33 Stanyan to the Mission. After a few minutes of waiting, the bus got to the top of the hill, and then stood there stopped for almost 10 minutes, which I thought was kind of bizarre. I could’ve just walked up there, but you know the second you start walking is when the bus starts moving, so I just stayed put and let myself get slowly soaked. Plus, I was trying to make a fun stoner game of counting how many drops of water landed on my head and I wanted to break my high score of 17.

Finally, the bus crept down the hill, I got on, and everything was going great for about the next 45 seconds. Then we got to the next stop and I hear the bus driver say “Don’t worry now, we’ll get you off here somehow.” Wait, what?

The doors of the bus are broken. They won’t open. The bus driver keeps restarting the bus and messing with the doors and oh my god we are trapped on this bus because the doors won’t open! It was sort of like being in a real life version of R. Kelly’s Trapped In The Closet, except instead of being trapped in a closet, I was trapped in a traveling metal fart coffin full of judgmental strangers.

This is about when I started to feel the effects of the marijuana food I’d consumed earlier. That’s right–I was high off the medicinal marijuana that was prescribed to me by a doctor to treat my anorexia. So there I was, suddenly high as fuck, and I could not stop laughing at the utter ridiculousness of the situation. Everyone was staring at me because, as far as bus crowds go, this was a pretty clean, sane crowd. You know if you can’t spot the weirdo on Muni that means it’s you, and it definitely was me this time since I was sitting there cackling uncontrollably to myself while everyone else was pissed off about being stuck on a bus. It was me getting all the stares.

Now freshly paranoid about everyone looking at me like I’m seriously unhinged, I pretended to look at my phone so they would think I was laughing at something on there. It didn’t really work though because as I texted people about my crazy bus debacle, I kept thinking of more and more crazy potential outcomes of this situation. What if we run out of air before the bus mechanic arrives? What if someone goes crazy and tries to kill us all? WHAT IF THERE'S AN ORGY - that would be hilarious for the bewildered swamp of people huddled in the bus shelter!

Finally, after 25 minutes of wizardy, the driver somehow magically fixed the bus doors, and we got to wait another 10 minutes for the next 33 to arrive. It took me a total of an hour and fifteen minutes to reach my destination, most of which was spent trapped on a broken bus a mere 3 blocks from my warm, dry, snack-filled apartment.

I got off the bus, crossed the street, and got on the next 33 back to my house. That bus broke down as well. I walked the rest of the way home, made myself 27 goat cheese crostinis and ate them in bed.

This has been a story about the least crazy thing that has ever happened to me on Muni.

*Name changed, per our privacy policy

Muni is now outfitting bus stops across the city with adorable little animal symbols to announce the pace at which the bus will be making its rounds that day. The catch is that every stop gets a snail. 

Note: According to a direct witness, it seems that I misjudged the situation in haste and the dude, in fact, split laundry detergent everywhere, rather than peed himself.  My sincerest appologizes if that ruined your day.  Below is the original post, which remains unedited despite its incorrect analysis.  Refunds can be collected at the box office.

Rainy days in San Francisco can really be a blessing in disguise.  They force you to switch up your routine.  Wear that $40 North Face rain coat you begrudgingly bought at Sports Basement last time it rained.  Leave your bike in the garage and take public transportation to work.  Whine on Twitter.

I, like many of my friends and neighbors, did all of that yesterday.  Only my iPhone-equiped, North Face jacket-clad BART ride was a little extra special, because I saw this:

What's that you say?  Well, dearest readers, that's what happens when someone fucking pisses themselves on a rush hour commute BART train.  That's right, it's a pool of fucking urine.

Pee-pee. Jersey discharge. Liquid gold. R. Kelly's Viagra.  The Smello Yellow.  Whatever you call it, it's fucking gross.

And to make matters even more amusing?  This dude let it go down right in front of two cops.

Now, I must be totally clear here, I didn't see this guy whip out his most likely-syphilitic dick and hose down the floor with my own two eyes.  But if the ghastly, PTSD-Vietnam-flashback looks of horrors in everyone's eyes as they fled the train at Civic Center tells any story, there was most definitely a traumatic experience in his pants.

The cops, contrary to one's justifiable expectations, did not freak out and tase the relieved sonuvabitch.  Rather, they got on the radio and serenely called in “clean-up in car 1431,” as if they were fired from their minimum wage stocking job at Safeway just last week.  These cops have seen it all, goddamnit, and they weren't about to let some unkinked hose get them suspended.

It was around this time that things started to smell a little off and I bailed off the train myself, but not before noticing the reflection of one man's unadulterated terror in the puddle of piss: