By T Von D.
It finally happened. I got caught.
I always thought I could avoid it, but when the SF Muni cops got on my bus one cold early morning, I knew my luck had run out. Too tired to care, I hadn’t tapped my card or activated a digital ticket. In the back of the bus, I panicked, watching them efficiently make their way through every adult on board, a high pitch beep-beep sounding off for every law-abiding rider.
When he got to me I accepted my fate, morbidly curious to experience the process, I thought, “If I can survive this I won’t be nervous about it again.” I gave him my Clipper Card, the machine made a loud BRRZZ! And I had no excuse. I also didn’t offer one, I just gave him my ID and took my ticket. The cops got off two stops later and I continued on to work (still without an active ticket).
I went through the appropriate internal monologue of how I could have avoided this, how I felt about it, and what I would do next. The only answer was to attempt an appeal and my hopes were not high.
By San Francisco standards, I am not by any means a wealthy person. Just shy of a middle-class salary, I still share an apartment with two other people in the Outer Sunset and rely fully on public transportation. In the almost decade that I have lived here, I have boomeranged from being a diligent digital ticket bearer, a student pass holder, and completely delinquent on bus lines.
The guilt over this delinquency is new; I can now afford an $81-a-month pass, but I’ve procrastinated buying it, which made this embarrassing moment avoidable. The brief time when I had my student pass I was at my best, always tapping on every bus and train I got on. I didn’t have to be proactive about it, the pass was automatic and built into my student ID. But when I graduated in 2021, I never rectified the situation, and why would I? It was the pandemic.
The 2020 lockdowns sparked occasional benefits that helped many of us pinch pennies in San Francisco: Officially, we were offered free Muni rides to get a vaccine, but I also witnessed fewer citations written for fare violators. Likewise, San Francisco loosened its chokehold around expired parking meter citations and street-cleaning fines — or so I heard.
All of this was temporary of course, but in that time, I joined a swath of people who nearly abandoned Muni. Trains and buses looked empty, and their schedules became irregular. Rider numbers dipped severely. I barely left the Sunset in 2020, kept to my beaches and Great Highway, and decorated the inside of my apartment like an Italian family-style restaurant for fun.
Eventually I returned to work and day-to-day life, but my commuting habits had changed, and I think that’s true for many people. I’m not saying it’s right, but in the wake significant life adjustments to daily routines, tapping to pay no longer felt like a standard morning ritual for me.
I’ve seen plenty of crazy shit on Muni — even been flashed once by a pervert — but mostly what I see are my neighbors. And I don’t just mean people from my block, but everyone I see on my daily commute; senior citizens, students, and workers like me. People who would otherwise be completely dependent on cars and people in their lives who can drive them.
I watch my neighbors to see if they tap to pay as they get on, and often the answer is no. I thought more of us would be ticketed that day, but to my fascination, it was only me and one other person: A woman who I can only guess was in her 40s and likely also a regular on that bus line. She also quietly accepted her fate and, by example, caused me to do the same.
I was truly surprised; recent reports made it sound as if no one was paying their fare. My fine was $125 as a first-time offender, which felt absurd, but also: was it worth it to Muni to get this money? I decided to find out and appealed.
I was talking to The Bold Italic when the whole ordeal started, thinking, “Wouldn’t it be interesting to go to Muni court and write about it?” But that never happened because I had no case. My appeal was denied, of course.
I had no good reason or proof that would have forgiven my sin, and in some ways, this outcome is acceptable. The idea of taking any time out of my day to deal with this process — either in person or even on Zoom — was not worth it, and I bet Muni anticipates that. Red tape is annoying for a reason, after all.
T Von D. is a local museum worker and lesbian.
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After publishing this story, a reader let us know that first-time offenders can have their citations waved. Thank you, readers, for engaging with us.
