pete wilson got all j-capped and shit
so, I ride the bus some days. for those of you that don't know, the golden gate transit buses are not like most public buses - they have reclining seats and reading lights etc - pretty nice. but still public transportation, with the occassional beligerant passenger, delays etc.
The thing I like most about the bus is kinda strange - the bus occassionally has recently parolled san quentin prisioners going (almost entirely) to "frisco". (the fact that even people from the bay area call it frisco leads me to think that it's only rich white people that don't like it to be called frisco, but that's another story).
I like that these guys are all dressed in their "just got out of prison" uniform (off white sweat pants and sweat shirts) and are counting their money patiently and a bit secretly. I like that they're sort of in awe. some of them look at everything, some of them look at nothing, some of them look at everything but san quentin itself when we drive by.
Their social skills are a weird mix of totally wrong and earnestly striving for perfection. Today after yelling - almost belligerantly - at the bus driver to hold the bus while he got his money one parolee offered his seat to a "senorita" (senora he was corrected, not offensively), taking a cue from him, several others did as well.
I really enjoy that something that's incredibly mundane for me (riding that same damned bus to my same damned job) is so totally different for some others (riding away from somewhere they've been for months or years with no freedom to a place that means freedom for a whole host of reasons). Same bus, different ride. I think about this pretty regularly when these guys are on the bus.
Today I spoke with some of them for the first time (beyond simple questions about the time and where such a stop was etc). It was interesting. We talked about drugs you get in prison, dead men walking, respect, violence, writing books, intimidating witnesses, family, gangs, the different blocks, what riots are like, the problem with the three strikes rule (it was interesting to see someone who was in jail for a very good reason talking about how someone who really shouldn't be in jail was gonna be there for a long time), etc. etc. etc.
I encourraged the younger kid to write about it, because he suggested he wanted to, but then dismissed the idea as stupid...he wasn't very bright, but mostly he wasn't very sure of himself. he quit being in the gang in prison, they move you to the block that's for PC (protective custody) because the other bangers will kill you (old friends and old enemies both). He didn't even know how to take the bus particuarly well (he seemed very scared that at the bus station he'd have to decide to take a bus or a train to stockton - like he would be incapable of making that kind of decision). It made me wonder what he had been prepared for at all in prison. It seemed pretty obvious that for some people prison is a place you go because you got caught doing what you do - they're gonna keep on doing it too. For others, the experience might have tought them something, but all it did was teach them what they did was wrong, not here's how to avoid doing the exact same thing again. it did not give me much hope.
I could probably write about this hour long busride for two hours, the point is that it was good. much better than the busride yesterday when the cute girl from richmond (VA, not CA) said to the not so cute guy from richmond (CA, not VA) that richmond was small enough to drive around in ("you don't need to take a bus because it's small enough to drive everywhere"). I wanted to kick her off the bus. instead I told her to be sure and take the ferry back from sausalito. Best part of that experience was the guy described richmond as the matrix ("they just stopped building it") and he kept talking to himself "I should have gotten of the bus with her" after she got off at the bridge.
Anyway, buses are important.
The thing I like most about the bus is kinda strange - the bus occassionally has recently parolled san quentin prisioners going (almost entirely) to "frisco". (the fact that even people from the bay area call it frisco leads me to think that it's only rich white people that don't like it to be called frisco, but that's another story).
I like that these guys are all dressed in their "just got out of prison" uniform (off white sweat pants and sweat shirts) and are counting their money patiently and a bit secretly. I like that they're sort of in awe. some of them look at everything, some of them look at nothing, some of them look at everything but san quentin itself when we drive by.
Their social skills are a weird mix of totally wrong and earnestly striving for perfection. Today after yelling - almost belligerantly - at the bus driver to hold the bus while he got his money one parolee offered his seat to a "senorita" (senora he was corrected, not offensively), taking a cue from him, several others did as well.
I really enjoy that something that's incredibly mundane for me (riding that same damned bus to my same damned job) is so totally different for some others (riding away from somewhere they've been for months or years with no freedom to a place that means freedom for a whole host of reasons). Same bus, different ride. I think about this pretty regularly when these guys are on the bus.
Today I spoke with some of them for the first time (beyond simple questions about the time and where such a stop was etc). It was interesting. We talked about drugs you get in prison, dead men walking, respect, violence, writing books, intimidating witnesses, family, gangs, the different blocks, what riots are like, the problem with the three strikes rule (it was interesting to see someone who was in jail for a very good reason talking about how someone who really shouldn't be in jail was gonna be there for a long time), etc. etc. etc.
I encourraged the younger kid to write about it, because he suggested he wanted to, but then dismissed the idea as stupid...he wasn't very bright, but mostly he wasn't very sure of himself. he quit being in the gang in prison, they move you to the block that's for PC (protective custody) because the other bangers will kill you (old friends and old enemies both). He didn't even know how to take the bus particuarly well (he seemed very scared that at the bus station he'd have to decide to take a bus or a train to stockton - like he would be incapable of making that kind of decision). It made me wonder what he had been prepared for at all in prison. It seemed pretty obvious that for some people prison is a place you go because you got caught doing what you do - they're gonna keep on doing it too. For others, the experience might have tought them something, but all it did was teach them what they did was wrong, not here's how to avoid doing the exact same thing again. it did not give me much hope.
I could probably write about this hour long busride for two hours, the point is that it was good. much better than the busride yesterday when the cute girl from richmond (VA, not CA) said to the not so cute guy from richmond (CA, not VA) that richmond was small enough to drive around in ("you don't need to take a bus because it's small enough to drive everywhere"). I wanted to kick her off the bus. instead I told her to be sure and take the ferry back from sausalito. Best part of that experience was the guy described richmond as the matrix ("they just stopped building it") and he kept talking to himself "I should have gotten of the bus with her" after she got off at the bridge.
Anyway, buses are important.
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