Baby You Can Ride In My Car

I’m not sure if it’s a Bay Are thing or not but every weekday morning, I take my place in a queue of commuters under the I580 overpass at MacArthur Avenue in Oakland in what’s known ‘round these parts as the “casual carpool” line. I’m not sure if other urban communities have adopted this style of carpooling but in my opinion, every community should. Basically, certain centrally located points in surrounding suburban cities have been dedicated as casual carpool pickup points. Folks get in line and two at a time, hop into cars heading to San Francisco. The relationship, albeit fleeting, is a win-win for everybody. The driver avoids the $3 bridge toll (soon to jump another dollar) and the often thirty-minute approach to the City and the two passengers get a free, quick ride to downtown San Francisco via the carpool lane. It’s a simply brilliant way to get to work in the morning and it gives me chance to ride in cars I would never get a chance to ride in otherwise.

Don’t get me wrong, I have grown to love and treasure my 1988 red Acura with its “Bad Girl” decal my mother so generously “lent” me when I totaled my beloved ’95 Honda Civic not too long ago. It has served me well and faithfully. But what tickles me even more and what I tend to brag about to complete strangers is the fact that I don’t really even need to drive my car during the week. Between casual carpooling into the City every morning and taking the P line bus home every evening, I’m saving buckets of money, wear-and-tear on my car, and every now and again, get to hop into a Jaguar.

People often ask, “Aren’t you scared you’ll be getting into a car with an ax murderer?” or “Do you sign up for it ahead of time?” No and no. I have never encountered any ax murderer-types in my hundreds of times as a passenger into the City. And signing up ahead of time? Well, then, we wouldn’t be able to call it “casual” carpool at that point, now would we?

Of course, it’s not completely casual. You ride long enough and you’ll begin to see the same riders, the same drivers. There’s the burgundy Nova that shows up around 8:15 am. At all costs, I try and avoid this car. A youngish, Asian woman driver, she’s got a pair of magnetic-nosed teddy bears hanging from her rear-view mirror and Hello Kitty cozies for her headrests. She also listens to an all-talk Christian radio show that features old-school evangelists that have the peculiar speech affection that causes them to end all their words with “—aah” as in “Sin-aah no more-aah! Jesus-aah loves ya-aah!”

I love getting first-time drivers. I often take it upon myself to school them in the etiquette of casual carpooling. I got in to a car with a young woman, lured to Oakland from the City by the cheaper rents and plentiful parking. As I climbed up into her Toyota SUV, I could tell immediately she was a first-timer due to her proclivity to chat. She explained how she couldn’t find the pick up point and that she had driven up and down Grand Avenue for quite some time. I told her the Grand Avenue spot was popular as well as the Oakland Avenue and 41st Street by the Korean church. After a quick exchange of “Good mornings" most drivers and passengers remain silent, usually letting the all-talk chatter of NPR fill up the airspace on the fifteen-minute ride into the City. Not so with this lady. I learned all about her life, where she worked, where she and her husband lived. How she was lousy with car directions because all she ever used to do was ride her bike in the City and street signs and one-way roads be damned as she zipped in and out of traffic on her trusty ten-speed. So of course, I gave the inside scoop on carpool etiquette, lest some unscrupulous passenger tried to pass on mis-information in hopes of avoiding her twelve-block hike to work in the morning.

“Yes, most drivers take a left on Howard Street and let passengers out on the corner of Fremont and Howard, unless you’re crossing Market Street. In that case, most people will jump out on Market Street and walk to work from there.” She nodded her head, mentally taking notes for tomorrow’s carpool adventure. “You work at North Beach? Gosh, I work a block below Broadway. You’re going that way? You mind if you ride with you to there? That’s awfully nice of you. Just so you know, most drivers don’t offer door-to-door rides to their passengers…” I love it when the morning ride over works out that way.

Casual carpool is my favorite way to get to work. At cocktail parties (not that I go to many), it always paints a sheen of mystery about me. “Uh-huh…I do it everyday. Yes, strangers, every one…no, I’m never scared, really, it’s perfectly safe.” In reality, I’m just a cheap bastard, short on time and always ready to hop into a Mini, a Prius, a Lexus, a Jag…”