Prose and Cons of Car-Pooling

In honor of California Rideshare Week, The Times gave readers the opportunity to pen their own finish to a modern-day ride-sharing fairy tale.

In the end, 203 readers sent in their endings to the story we started, entitled, “Jack: A Rideshare Story.”

Some were funny. Some were heartwarming. A few were scary. And, of course, there were several mentions of Jill.

Here are the 10 best. For their literary efforts, each winner receives a lovely stress-reducing gift.

*

Jack: A Rideshare Story

Once upon a time in a faraway land called SoCal, lived a guy named Jack.

Now, Jack owned a car--one of those eight-cylinder jobs--and every morning he’d merrily go off to work all alone. Jack never ride-shared. In fact, he thought people who took buses, trains and car pools were odd. But one day . . .

*

. . . he heard the voice.

“I’m pretty tired, you know.”

“What?”

“I said I’m pretty tired.”

Jack frowned and looked around nervously.

“Keep your eyes on the road! I can’t do everything.”

“Who are you?” Jack asked.

“I’m your car and I’ve had it, so listen up. Oct. 6 begins Rideshare Week. We’re going to start car-pooling.”

“No way,” Jack said.

“We’re going to carpool with Mary and Paul. I’ve been talking to their rides and it’s a waste that we all go to the same place at the same time every day.”

“I can’t, I. . . .”

Jack’s car suddenly stopped.

“Hey!” he shouted. People were honking and screaming at him.

“Say we’ll carpool.”

“Come on.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“All right, all right. I’ll call Mary and Paul.”

The car happily began moving again.

“I think this is the start of something beautiful, Jackie. Now, about the oil grade you’ve been using. . . .”

--Carl L. Oleskewicz

*

. . . in his car he found the Ghost of Traffic Past. It reminded Jack of his childhood bus rides to school and ride-sharing to college. These were fond memories. The ghost left him.

The next morning, Jack found the Ghost of Traffic Present in his car. It showed him car-poolers unclogging the freeways. Jack said he’d never do that. The ghost left.

Once more a ghost--the Ghost of Traffic to Come--came and it told Jack that not car-pooling was wrong. It showed him the horrible traffic 10 years from now: nobody car-pooling, each driving alone and all because Jack had been a bad example.

Seeing this made Jack stop and think.

The following day he called some nearby friends and set up a ride-share. From then on, Jack felt proud and happy to be helping decrease bad traffic.

This car pool also benefited his social life!

--Sunny Parisi

*

. . . he was abducted by aliens. Not run-of-the mill E.T.s, but hip beings of a high-spirited and civilized nature. One minute Jack is tempted to jump into the fast lane and risk the $200-plus fine and the next, whoosh, sploosh, kanoosh, he’s, like, totally elsewheresville out of SoCal and in the company of Jill, Bill and Bob, a trio from another world.

“Maybe I’m just dead, dreaming or flashing back to a retro metro state triggered by some sad soma sunk two decades ago in a secret closet of my medulla oblongata.”

Well, he wasn’t in a ship but in some space/time-linked ultra-dimensional fairyland of beautiful beings . . . just groovin’ in their light/sound vehicles emanating their personal vibe. It all just flowed. Traffic signals and signs were more for aesthetic value ‘cause everyone just knew what to do and just did it!

Jill, Bill and Bob (in chorus) said, “Right on. We’re here to hip you to some fresh ideas like mellow the Earth, be civilized and dig carpool lanes. No jams, no mishaps.”

Wow, this was Nirvana. Such beauty.

Before you could swoozapp, Jack’s left front tire be hangin’ over the double double line and this lady CHP shouts, “Chill Phil.”

And that very day at the office he signed up on the ride-share sheet and then proceeded to ink in a marathon double session with his shrink.

--Gary Egnatz

*

. . . Jack, already late for the office, threw open his car door and froze! Before his eyes lay emptiness--the passenger seats had vanished! Only the driver’s seat remained. Jack blinked hard. Was this his car? Fighting to gather his wits, he drank in the details.

The scene was one of almost clinical neatness. A half-dozen coins were spread over the dashboard.

“Cushion change,” Jack guessed. “Damn honest thieves!”

So craftily had the seats been excised and the carpet restored that no ripple, no shadow, no sign remained to indicate where seats had been. Jack grimaced wryly. He hoped he could do as well on the appendectomy on this morning’s schedule.

Wait! He spied a note on the windshield. “A thank-you note, for crissakes!”

“Your contribution of seats will be used in the cure of congested traffic arteries. Thank you.”

Signed: Operation Rideshare.

--Lillian Koslover

*

. . . a mathematical traffic report evened the odd ends out.

After work he took eighth to the 110. Traffic was at a standstill so he tuned to the AM band for an update.

Traffic jammed on 5, 55, 105 and 405. Slow on 1, 91 and 101. Tie-up on 10, 11O, 210 and 710. Diesel spill closes 60.

The numbers rose along with the cortisone levels in his blood. Gripping the wheel and gritting his teeth, he began to realize that the Blue Line to the Red Line is the best way home.

--Andres F. Centeno Jr.

*

. . . Jack met a lovely young lady named Jill. They both work at the law firm of Whistles & Bells and that weekend was the company picnic. Even though Jack didn’t want to, they car-pooled to the picnic together. After the picnic, Jack asked her out to dinner and Jill accepted. During dinner they talked about work and car-pooling. Moreover, they agreed to start car-pooling Monday morning.

Things went great for the two of them. Two years later, Jack married Jill and they car-pooled up the hill to their new home and lived happily ever after.

--Robert Guevara

*

. . . he met his lovely new co-worker, a lady in red named Jill, who just moved to SoCal because she had been sleepless in Seattle (and was tired of the rain, man). Feeling guilty as sin because she wasn’t ride-sharing like she had in Seattle with her ex-wives club, Jill said, “In Seattle, on a clear day, you can see forever.”

Jack said, “When the wind blows through SoCal, you can see from here to eternity. But otherwise it’s very smoggy.”

They agreed to help reduce the smog problem and save gas money by getting 12 angry men together within 48 hours to ride-share with them.

Soon they were saving big money and others were asking them about that ride-sharing thing you do. Ride-sharing was far and away one of the best ideas they ever had.

Jack and Jill agree: People who don’t ride-share are just plain dumb and dumber.

--Debbie Phillips

*

. . . Jack, late for work as usual, ran into a massive tie-up on the 405. Bumper to bumper, hitting the horn, yelling at everyone, Jack had had it.

Sweating, cursing, he picked up his car phone, dialed his psychiatrist while barely avoiding an 18-wheeler.

“Dr. Katz, Dr. Katz . . . it’s me, Jack! I’m on the 405 . . . can’t take it anymore! I’m coming in . . . now! . . . Be there!”

Exiting at Wilshire Boulevard, Jack sped to the doctor’s Beverly Hills office. As luck would have it, Dr. Katz (out for his morning jog, cell phone in hand) comforted him up to his office.

Jack was babbling hysterically, “405 . . . 405 . . . I . . . I . . . 405!”

Dr. Katz, well attuned to Jack’s anxiety and history of aggression, tenderly calmed him and repeated again what he had advised in previous sessions: “Jack, Jack . . . ride-share. Remember, Jack . . . shhh, ride-share. You’ll be better.”

And so he was!

--Thomas A. O’Gorman

*

. . . on his way to work Jack died. The coroner noted the cause of death to be “traffic-related stress.”

In heaven, Jack strained his eyes to see a beautiful gleaming gate in the distance. The roadway to the gate was filled with buses and trains with cars racing by in the carpool lane. Jack managed to get one of the cars to stop and climbed inside with several other riders. Jack leaned back in the comfortable seat and closed his eyes.

“It sure is peaceful here in heaven,” Jack thought to himself.

--Jeffrey E. Niven

*

. . . on his way to work, Jack spied a car pool of beauties. He tried to keep up with them but alas, his big la bomba car couldn’t do it.

Jack didn’t want to be known as a big balloon head with a dunce cap on so he bought a new car and advertised for people to share a ride with him hoping to find his “special” beauty and lo and behold, today he carpools with a bevy of babes and believes profoundly in ride-sharing.

--Betty Clark