A Little Drool Time

I am entirely aware of the rung on which I stand in world.  I know how much money I earn.  I know what sort of house in which I live and what sort of cars I own.  I accept it, albeit with expectations for something better in the future.  I'm able to live with the periodic disappointment from time to time, often converting that disappointment into motivation.  One of those occasions happened just the other day.

As I drove along Lamar Avenue in my pleasant, but unmistakably middle-class Chrysler, a black Porsche Carrera passed me.  Not in a brash, loud, punky manner, the way someone in, perhaps, a Camaro SS or Mustang GT might.  Just in a polite "Pardon me, Sir.  I'm a bit late for a meeting," way.  From inside my car, I peered longingly at its soft German lines as it drifted by in the lane to my left until disappeared into the distance.

Because I had the day off, I was eager to spend it doing fun things.  I stopped at one of my favorite restaurants in Austin and had Baja fish tacos for lunch.  I perused a couple good book stores.  I went to Whole Foods and browsed the aisles for goodies.  But lingering somewhere in my thoughts was that black Carrera.  What would it be like to drive something like that?  Hmmmmm...

I decided to find out.

I parked my car in front of the showroom.  Through the glass, brand-new beautiful works of German craftsmanship stood like supermodels, each with a price tag of near -- and some more than -- six figures.  What was I doing here? I asked myself.  Don't be ridiculous.  This is entirely out of your league.  And it was.  Absolutely.

Still, I got out of my car and walked into the showroom.  There was actually classical music playing overhead.  A nicely dressed receptionist smiled and greeted me, "Good afternoon, Sir.  How can we help you today?"  Behind her was the daddy of the Porsche creations standing front and center: a 2010 Carrera 4S.  In front of each displayed car was a plaque that gave the specs and date the car was made before it made its journey across the Atlantic to the US.  In discreet print, the price was printed in the lower right corner.  This particular car was going for $101,742.  I didn't bother to even touch the car.  It was quite safe to assume I would never have the disposable income necessary to purchase a car with that sort of price tag.  Instead, I saw another car across the showroom floor.  And this car could be within grasp someday.

It was a 2010 Cayman dressed in Silver Metallic.

I admired the graceful uninterrupted lines, which closely resembled those of its older sibling, the 911 Carrera.  While it's true the 320 rated brake horsepower of the Cayman was less than the 911 offered, I knew it was still more than sufficient to bring about childlike giddiness once the throttle was flattened.  I went through the motions of talking to the salesperson.  I answered his questions.  He answered mine.  I was forthcoming by explaining that I was not in a position to buy yet and that I didn't want to waste his time.  I explained that I just needed to know what I was missing.  I needed to know what the decades of hype is really all about.  He seemed to understand.  Then he sent a driver to pull one up for a test drive.  My test drive.

A stunning machine soon appeared.  It was a 2010 Cayman in Meteor Gray Metallic.  I opened the small door and smelled the hand-stitched leather.  The car's interior was well thought out but not over thought.  There were no unnecessary flairs or goofy styling.  The genius was in its simplicity.

I slid into the driver's seat and looked around at the sensible instrument cluster.  The engine came to life with a quick twist of the key in the ignition.  A deep muffled drone was silenced when the door shut.  This was going to be fun.  Once we were in an area where we could properly experience the magic, the salesperson told me to "really drive it".  So, I did.  I finished off the last bit of second gear and smoothly moved into third.  The pull on my body into the seat was constant, and the speedometer was passing through 85 mph.  Three more gears remaining.  I went into a slight turn to the right and continued to accelerate without any strain.  100 mph now.  Fourth gear.  Another bend to the left.  I kept the RPM high and pulled it hard at the apex of the turn, rapping out the last of fourth.  No tire squealing or drifting. 125 mph.  I was running out of real estate.  There was a stop sign ahead.  My foot came off the throttle and the engine began winding down.  The last two gears would have to come another day.  It was okay.  I had seen enough.  I had been seduced.  And I was in love.

I returned the car to the very parking space where I had first seen it.  I shook hands with the salesman, chatted a bit, and then walked back to my car.  I spent the rest of the day somewhat inspired to make small steps toward owning one of those machines someday.  And that's what it's about.

I understand now.