Rot In Hell Reagan

I used to walk by the corner of Seventh and Market on a daily basis. No single place in the city can hold the dubious honor of homeless epicenter, but to my mind this area is definitely one of many. The drunk, destitute, strung-out and mentally ill are always present. Camped out around the fabled fountain of United Nations Plaza, begging in front of the 24-hour check-cashing storefront, or simply passed out on the sidewalk. Scattered fragments from the riven social welfare programs.

On the opposite side of the street was a sign that would always catch my eye on my walk to MUNI. It read

Rot In Hell Reagan

A strangely poetic epitaph, in the face of all this mayhem. Reagan’s legacy is rendered cruelly and plainly on the streets as well as on MUNI, which seems to attract more than its share of the mentally unstable.

Sometimes these MUNI rides are slightly amusing.

There was the guy who whipped out a garage opener, held it up to his ear and started mimicking the cell phone conversation of another passenger.

Or the ragged fellow in fluorescent lipstick and Sharpie eyeshadow who brought an ab machine on the bus and proceeded to peer at people through its holes.

The unidentifiable hobbit drawing everyone’s attention in an ersatz black burka.More often the scenario is like it was yesterday. A man boards the back of a packed bus shouting epithets in a jumbled conversation with himself. He flips off the driver. He dares anyone to intervene. We just have to endure it. It’s time like these I curse MUNI and think, rot in hell Reagan.