Photo by Rick Geary

Has the guy next to me really stopped breathing?

Dear Matthew Alice: I recently rode a San Diego municipal bus, which was a loathsome and hideous experience. While riding, I noticed a sign that listed activities that are prohibited by law. The sign stated that eating or drinking is punishable by a $500 fine and/or six months' imprisonment; operating a radio is also punishable by a $500 fine and/or six months’ imprisonment; but smoking aboard the bus is punishable by a mere $10 to $100 fine. It seems to me that smoking in a crowded bus is much more antisocial than sucking on a Slurpee. — Erik C. Hanson, Imperial Beach

Loathsome? Hideous? A little attitude adjustment here, Erik. Think the bus ride is slow? Maybe it’s just “leisurely, Zen-like.” Schedules, routes inconvenient? How about “challenging.” Fellow passengers are “singular personalities, unique, exotic” (remember—everyone else is scrutinizing you too). The public transportation atmosphere is charged with “wonder and anticipation” — is that old lady really carrying a shopping bag full of bones, and should I tell her it’s leaking? Exactly when is that baby going to throw up over the back of the seat onto my shoes? What would that big kid in the blue jogging suit with the BK sneakers say if I asked him not to take up both seats so I could sit down? Has the guy next to me really stopped breathing, and do I have some responsibility in this situation? Omigosh, what’s that smell?

You obviously took the wisest route and turned your “hideous, loathsome” adventure into a learning experience, contemplating the literature posted around the vehicle. You were riding a bus with the full-text notices; even more interesting are the ones that simply have the red circle-and -slash over a symbolic indication of the forbidden activity. The burning cigarette is pretty self-evident. The portable radio should translate clearly across all language barriers. The “no eating or drinking,” what appears to be a stylized fast-food burger container and plastic foam cup, could just as easily be “no hockey pucks or flower pots.” And the fourth, I have to admit, eludes me completely. It looks like a silhouette of the Paris skyline, with little chimneys and eaves. (“No Frenchmen”?) Or junk in a broom closet. (“No mopping”?) Anyway, that alone could occupy your imagination through the longest ride, I’d think.

But to the question at hand. The system’s a little complicated. You’re ticketed on a bus or trolley by an officer of the Metropolitan Transit Development Board, but you’re prosecuted under provisions of the San Diego Municipal Code. Basically, the fines you see posted in trolleys and buses are the maximum bail amounts you can be assessed for breaking the law. These are set down in the muni code. The actual bail assessment that will be written down on any ticket you get is set statewide by a board of judges that meets every year or two for that purpose. Apparent glitches in logic, such as the one you point out, arise because of the way the laws are written. The “no radio-playing” ordinance is just one small part of the San Diego Municipal Code’s wide-ranging noise-abatement ordinances, which also regulate public-address systems, partying too hearty between 10 p.m. and 8 a.m., operating noisy vehicles or boats, construction noise, those infernal leaf blowers, burglar alarms, musical instruments, and so forth. “No eating or drinking” is part of the larger traffic and vehicle section of the muni codes, which also covers such transgressions as destroying a fire hydrant, parking meter, light pole, or other city property in a hit-and-run (or being in charge of an animal that causes an accident that results in the destruction of city property — Rover amok in your Lexus, I guess); disobeying police or fire crowd control; abandoning a vehicle on a highway; and so forth. The “no smoking” section of the muni code sits pretty much by itself, though it does get longer and longer as smoking becomes less publicly acceptable.

When the smoking laws were written, illegal smoking was classified as an “infraction,” that is, one step lower than a misdemeanor. For an infraction, you’re just ticketed by a peace officer and you mail in bail and penalties. That $100 represents the maximum bail you might pay, but you’ll also be dunned perhaps $10 in penalties for every $10 in bail, so the tab for that smoke could run a little high.

Breaking any of the noise laws or the traffic and vehicle laws is a misdemeanor (more serious than an infraction, less serious than a felony). Because the “no radio-playing on the trolley” law is lumped together with “no marching band practice at 2 a.m.” law, the maximum bail and imprisonment look somewhat out of line. But judges in that three-ring circus (Hieronymus Bosch painting? Fellini movie?) called misdemeanor arraignment court are free to tweak the bail and penalties based on the realities of your particular case, and maybe whether you have your hair combed and your shirttail tucked in. All those imponderables. (You can mail in the bail and penalties assessed on the ticket, but one insider suggests it may be financially worth your time to show up in court.)

The only specific figures I could uncover from the current bail schedule are for the radio-playing misdemeanor: $150 bail, plus $255 penalties. Again these are suggested amounts, adjustable by the judge. Someday when I’m feeling adventurous, I’ll drag a keg, a cigar, and a trumpet onto the number 11 to SDSU and see what happens.