an Francisco’s Giants played their third World Series in my adult life tonight, and as my office is in the Mission, a-gallavanting I went. It’s what you do after watching the victory game in a bar on Valencia. Everyone spills out into the streets. It was my first time World Series-ing. (I always avoided the mishmash in the past.) It’s fun. I’m not a fan, not even a bandwagon fan. I just like seeing a bit of spectacle now and again, same as anyone.
There was certainly a bit of that tonight, too: A couch went up in flames after locals yelled at fans to respect the town. A royal blue piñata burned in effigy. Tortillas flew across the intersection of 16th and Mission while dancers on top of bus shelters waved sparklers overhead. Low-key sideshows. iPad recording. Helicopters overhead. Riot gear.
I left before things got too crazy, but not early enough to miss out on residual BART yelling by Giants fans going home to the East Bay.
One stop before my transfer, I looked up from The Lovely Bones (My BART neighbor was reading a paperback novel, too, cause we’re super cool!) to see a young Caucasian woman passed out. On the BART station floor. In her Giants jersey. Hugging her leather Madewell bag. ON THE BART STATION FLOOR. It was gross.
“Oh you’re kidding,” I said aloud, not able to hold my judgment in.
She’s lucky. There’s no scandalous end to this story. Passengers tried to wake her up. The train conductor left the lead car to check on her. He called a station agent to assist. They got her into our car, and the train continued onward.
Thoughts that ran through my head:
- THAT IS GROSS.
- THANKS GUYS NOW WE ALL HAVE EBOLA.
- …where are her friends?
- How does anybody know if she’s really okay?
“How embarrassing,” she said, as she took up a seat by the door.
Yeah, genius. If you’re gonna drink, party, and head home by yourself, keep your shit together. If you’re going to do adult things, you need to act like a fucking adult.
I just have so many questions about this. It’s strange! Lone, seemingly sane and well-kept girl just passed out in the public transit station? I really don’t mean to blame the victim here. I’m just saying:
- Get better friends.
- Bring your own hair tie.
Props to the good samaritan BART employees putting those walkie talkies to use.