Surviving the Streets of L.A. with Humor and A Little Sex..

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We were coming home from a night of theatre in West L.A. one night about 2:00 am when this picture was taken. I am somewhat of a theatre junkie. We had season passes to most of the theatres in L.A., so this was not an unusual night out. Always dressed for a night out on the town we would leave our downtown loft and take either the Third Street Metro bus west or the Wilshire Rapid west to Beverly Hills or Westwood for supper. Sometimes we would walk three blocks in our stilettos and fur stoles to the subway up to Hollywood. Then onto whichever show we had tickets to that night. On this particular night we had gone west.

We had supper in Beverly Hills and then over to the Freud (pronounced Fruud because the theatre patron for whom it was named was a hostile cousin of Dr. Sigmund Freud. He wasn't a fan and insisted the theatre be pronounced Fruud to distinguish himself from the family member) Theatre to see a "Reprise! Broadway's Best" production of probably something Rodgers and Hammerstein. We had wrangled very good season seats in this exclusive little theatre where the audience is even more star studded than the cast. It was always among the best of nights out; whatever was showing.

On the way home we would catch the Wilshire Rapid, the big red bus, eastbound back to Alvarado where we would hike the three blocks uphill, along MacArthur Park, to our home on Third Street. Or, if we were feeling skittish, we would depart the Rapid in Beverly Hills and walk the three blocks up to Third Street where we would take Bus #16 home - it dropped us just at our front door. The dilemma with the second option was that the #16 only runs about once an hour at that time of night and sitting on a bus bench for an hour this late at night, even in Beverly Hills, isn't always the best choice. My general rule of street smarts says, keep moving.

On this particular night we were headed home straight for Alvarado. We had hiked that three blocks up hill in our high heels after midnight on more nights than I could count. The first time we found ourselves there we were taken aback. We had mistakenly assumed that a gypsy cab would be waiting near the subway & we could pay them $5.00 to take us the rest of the way. A gypsy cab, if you aren't familiar, is an unlicensed taxi. The licensed taxi's didn't brave this neighborhood at all other than just to pass through, and then only if absolutely necessary. Even the gyspy cabs don't brave the MacArthur Park area of Alvarado after midnight. On that first night that we found ourselves in this situation, we must have been obviously afraid. A group of men hollered at us from behind, "ya'll girls are actin' like you afraid. Ain't nobody gonna mess with ya'll in this neighborhood." This was the first time we had a clue that we had the courtesy of the local gang protection. If you read my post, "Home Sweet Home" then you know what I'm talking about.

So we're coming home from the theatre that night as happy as two girls having had a fun night on the town could be. We were frolicy with the music still reeling in our heads. The Metro was crowded with the ususal crowd - UCLA students, workers from the west side restaurants and bars headed back downtown, an odd homeless person here and there, and a few gang members. Nothing out of the ordinary. We were out of the ordinary but somehow we always are. We took seats at the back. My preferred seat is the one half way back, next to the back door. It sits up higher than the seats in the first half of the bus and when the door opens to let people exit every few minutes, you get a little fresh oxygen. That seat wasn't available though so we took seats across from one another almost at the very back. We were planted in a cluster of gang members which we had become accustomed to as our neighbors and in some cases, even friends.

We were about 15 minutes into our ride home when we realized these guys weren't from our neighborhood. A rival gang most likely. They were exhibiting behavior that seemed predatory and they had obviously singled us out. This had happened before, but not often. When it did happen, we had always had the protection of a neighbor gang member or undercover L.A.P.D. officer who saw to our safety. On this night, we weren't so lucky. We hadn't passed the Beverly Hills stop yet so that was still an option but it carried a big risk. Beverly Hills was virtually deserted at this hour. If they followed us off the bus we could be in serious trouble. Following us off at Alvarado could be equally risky since our neighborhood gang street patrol wouldn't be out that late and the police wouldn't likely be either.

Humor can be a really worthwhile line of defense. Just as we were nearing the Beverly Hills stop, I tossed my camera to Bonnie (my mom) across the aisle from me. She picked up on my instincts and started shooting pictures as I started clowning a mock strip tease, pullled the cord without anyone realizing I had done it, and pole danced my way off the back of the bus, blowing kisses at the gang that was now rolling on the floor in laughter. They thought she was taking pictures of me, and she was, but another reason we always carried a camera around was because people love to have their pictures taken - even predators. You get them distracted, snap their photo, and then if you do have a problem you might also have a means of identifying them. Lucky for us, we didn't need it.




I miss the Metro. Most of the people I know don't understand that. We Americans are not Metro goers as a rule - New Yorkers being the one true exception. My dad was car obsessed and so was I for much of my life. I had a toy race track when I was little girl and I had picked out the 1939 Mercedes Benz convertible as the car I would have when I grew up. Then came Burt Reynolds and Sally Fields in "Smokey and the Bandit" and my eyes were set on a lamborghini Countach, black with gull wing doors. I would be the girl in the sexy jumpsuit that talked her way out of tickets for driving too fast. Such ambitions for such a young girl. I learned to drive a car by myself when I was 9 years old. I did have ambitions where cars were concerned.

Then I moved to L.A. My car at the time was shot - over a quarter of a million miles and barely ticking. One of the big selling points to my new address was that the Metro bus ran ever 3 minutes and 24 hours a day just outside my building. Three blocks down Alvarado and I had an all access pass to the subway. At the time it was about $50 a month for unlimited rides on either. Busses and subway trains are not late. People may use it as an excuse for being late but they are immensely reliable and you don't have to pay $20 to park. I am a little home sick maybe - maybe just for a girls night out on the town.