Uber Pool With Forty Clowns Surprisingly Comfortable

By Jacob Johnson

Oct. 12, 2016

I’ll be honest with you guys –. I didn’t mean to request a Pool. My finger slipped, and I didn’t notice until it was too late. But when I looked down at my phone and saw the smiling profile of Enrique, my 4.7-star driver, I decided to roll with it.

Five minutes later, Enrique arrived in his beige Toyota Corolla. I got in, exchanged the usual pleasantries, and expected an uneventful trip to Union Station. That’s when we turned left. And left doesn’t lead to Union Station.

Left is where the Circus is.

“We appear to be heading towards the Circus,.” I remarked as offhandedly as possible, pressing my sleeve to my already damp forehead.

“Yes.” said Enrique. “We are going to pick up a few dozen clowns.”

I felt my stomach drop. My vision wavered. Not the clowns. Anything but the clowns.

I tried to hit the “request new driver” button, but my thumbs were too weak. This was it. This was how I was going to die. Death by clown, currently ranked #9 on “Top 100 Worst Ways to Die”, just under “Stubbing your toe on a nest of Japanese Hornets”.

As the giant Circus Tent grew larger and larger in my vision, I decided to ask God to help me. I pictured Him as Baby Jesus, because that one is the easiest to deal with for me.

“Please, God.” I begged. “I do not want to be killed by clowns. That is, like, such a lame way to go down.”

“Ye who liveth like a clown shall dieth by the clown.” He responded in His tiny Baby Jesus voice, which somehow managed to make it more insulting. “Shoulda thought about that before you wrote your stupid Moldy Banana article.”

“Okay, you are being kind of unreasonable right now.” I replied. But God was no longer in the Uber with me. We were at the Circus. And the clowns were there, in all of their terrible, face- painted glory.

Enrique seemed incredibly calm about the whole thing. As the clowns lined up, I closed my eyes and prepared for the end. The first one opened the door and got inside.

Then another one did. And another clown. And yet another. I couldn’t explain what was happening. Clowns were pouring into the back of the Uber, and yet my five-inch personal space bubble hadn’t been violated a single time. As the 40th and final clown entered the vehicle and closed the door behind him, all I could do was break the silence with a single well-timed cough.

Surprisingly, none of the 40 clowns in the Uber attempted to kill me. I ended up having a very stimulating conversation with Mr. Honknose about how we should approach environmental policy, and Goobo had some very good points regarding the Military-Industrial Complex.

I arrived at Union Station and said goodbye to Enrique and the 40 clowns. I made my way to the waiting area. Then I found a seat, and looked around. I saw the passenger list, and nearly passed out from fear.

There were 40,000 clowns on the train ride home.