Dear SF Muni,

Fuck you.

Let me start over.

Fuck you.

You are the public transportation system. Say that out loud. You are, supposedly, the way I should transport myself. You know, to places like “everywhere” and “anywhere”. So let me just say I’m a little bit confused.

I like to think of you like someone I’m dating (I know, a truly novel and original metaphor for me). And a few months ago, you basically told me you were exhausted. A lot of people were complaining about you, and you felt like you needed a little space. Just a little more time to yourself, because we’d been hanging out too often. I was frustrated when you said this, but I’m a good boyfriend, so I listened. I was like, “Hey, sure, if that’s what’s going to make this work a little better, you change your routes up. I’m even cool if you come by less often than you used to…if that’s what you need…” When you told me you needed a little more money to cover the rent…I figured it was cool. You weren’t a deadbeat significant other, and when times got better you’d pay me back.

I’m done with your lies.

You show up late. When you do show up, you’re a total asshole. Your driver acts like it’s a serious inconvenience that I’ve burdened him with the “driving people around in a bus” part of his “driving people around in a bus” part of his job. I mean, I wouldn’t take a job at the ice cream store and sigh when people asked for a goddamn sugar cone. Also, I would like to figure out where you are training your drivers. Have they used brakes on a bicycle before? Same theory. Just ease up a bit. If you push it lightly, the brakes are going to work. There’s no need to play the “can I catapult Drew into the awkward guy who’s mouth breathing in sweat pants” game. That was fun when you were on time. Hell, at the beginning of the relationship? It was one of those weird reasons I liked you: it was kind of cute in some effed up way.

It now costs me two dollars to be late to everything. Which seems like a really shitty deal. When did you become the cable guy, telling me vaguely that you’d be over at my place sometime between the morning and roughly any time ever, including never? This is not a schedule, unless you are smoking weed all day and you totally got caught up in that Man vs. Wild episode where Bear got stuck in a swamp and ate a fish while it was still alive (which, I’ll agree with you, was fascinating, you’re totally right).

My favorite is when you’re late and act like I’m the asshole. Oh, you’re too full? That’s cool, there’s another bus coming within today and when I have my first child. When I do get on, I feel like I’m holding on to the railing for dear life. I get it. You’re angry. We are too.

It used to be endearing. The guy who looked like a meth head wearing one head phone not attached to a portable music device? This was even charming before. But when I’m paying two bucks to sit next to this guy while I’m also late to everything I ever want to do? Not that adorable. Stop being the DMV, who just gave up and decided to be terrible at life from day one.

You are a transportation system. For a major metropolitan city. Put on your big boy pants and start trying a little harder. Thanks.

Love,

Drew. And presumably anyone else who lives in the city of San Francisco.

p.s. The sex was never that good, anyway. I never thought I’d say this, but BART is better in bed.

Booooo. BOOOOOOO.