San Francisco is not a convenient place to live. And with the rising cost of living, the growing population and the shortage of housing, it’s becoming less convenient by the day. A booming tech industry has brought thousands of new residents to San Francisco, all needing a way to get to work. Public transit infrastructure is operating over capacity. While city agencies scramble to meet rising demand, private companies are stepping in with market-based solutions for top-tier customers. The result is something more insidious than just a private bus for those who can afford it: the idea that infrastructure traditionally subsidized by public money for the public good now can, should and will be a private moneymaker.

San Francisco is not a convenient place in part because it has not aspired to be. Despite having regional train transit, local rail cars and buses, many parts of the city are not served well by public transit. The Muni rail and bus system, otherwise known as “the people’s railway” is more than 100 years old, and it shows. Residents love to complain about Muni, and not without cause. The service is notoriously slow, in no small part because of the city’s gridlock. Despite the urban density, car culture is alive and well, in part because of poor public transportation. There’s a reason that Uber and Lyft were born and flourish here and the city is home to the new bus services Chariot and Leap. There are many commutes in need of solutions, but Chariot and Leap have chosen to tackle precious few of them.

The startup buses feature very limited service areas. Chariot serves four short routes, and Leap currently features one. Chariot crowdsources its routes, while Leap worked with the San Francisco Municipal Transportation Agency to map its route, avoiding public bus stops and congested streets. They are licensed by the state public utilities commission, but they chose their service areas without surveys, studies or input from professional transit planners. Leap founder Kyle Kirchoff worked in software marketing before launching the company. He likens the service to a first-class plane ride: a high-end option for those who can afford it but not on par with a private jet.

Leap’s amenities reflect its ideal customer.

Whereas Leap is a $6 pour-over coffee with hints of chicory and clove, Muni is the $1.50 Styrofoam cup from the corner store with the burnt aftertaste. While the city booms, the troubled agency is in a constant state of bust, running an annual deficit with millions of dollars more in deferred infrastructure maintenance. Its daily ridership is growing, with more than 700,000 ticketed rides daily, but the city’s per capita ridership is in decline. More of the city’s new residents aren’t getting on the Muni bus. Leap’s boosters say Muni could learn from the private bus service — although it has been running for only a month and has no ridership data yet. But Leap’s advantage comes not just from comfy seats and coconut water but also from privatization. It can refuse or change service at any time and avoid certain laws, regulations and established labor unions. It is able to do these things not because it is better, smarter or faster but because it is newer, smaller and richer. For instance, it is not compliant with the Americans With Disabilities Act, and as a private service, it doesn’t necessarily need to be, though Kirchoff says it’s a priority for the future. The company’s buses were purchased at auction and overhauled by local designers and architects, who removed their wheelchair lifts, replacing them with high-end bars and armchair seating. (A plan for AstroTurf flooring was nixed.)