When the store I wanted to go to today was closed (as it is on all Sundays, except its website doesn't say the store hours and the phone recording indicated it would be open all day next Sunday, and I had to drive to the store to find out the normal, closed on Sunday's fact), I consoled myself by heading to Whole Foods. Food is pretty much the only purchase I can make without feeling guilty about spending money. New clothes? Nah, my old ones don't have too many visible holes yet. New running shoes? Only after I start having back pain after my usual two mile run. Dog food? Can't I just feed them my table scraps? A new car? Well, does the old one still get me from point A to point B, let's ignore safety for the moment.
So, off to Whole Foods in Mountain View for consolation shop for dinner moment.
After making my purchase, I rolled my cart into the elevator to go down one floor to the parking structure. As I stood there in the elevator, cringing at the wasted opportunity for (ever so) brief exercise of walking down the ONE FLIGHT of stairs, I pondered how much of my purchase would still be in the elevator if I shoved the cart in, pushed the button, ran out of the elevator and skipped down the stairs to meet the cart one floor down.
I left the elevator and started walking to the far back corner of the parking structure, where I had parked my car. As I passed the front cars, I noticed two people hovering around my car. One of the two people, a man, walked around the front of the car, bent over, and looked closely at the front of the car. The other person, a woman, shuffled along the side of the car, clearly wanting to be away from it.
Great. Just great, I thought. They hit my car and are trying to assess the damage. Just great. Crap like this makes me want to walk everywhere.
Or become a hermit.
I slowed to see if they would leave, but the guy showed lots of interest in the car, so I continued. As I crossed the last aisle in the lot, the guy leaned down and licked my car's hood.
I clicked the remote lock and made it chirp back at him.
He stood up, saw my approach, hurried around the car, and asked, "Is this your car?"
"It is," I answered as I popped the hatch.
"This is my dream car."
I looked at him for a moment. I'm not sure the last time I've ever heard a 20-something male state a soccer mom's car was his dream car. "Even the wagon part?"
The woman answered for him. "He's always looking for the perfect ski car. This is it."
"It's even a stick!" he exclaimed. OMG! I bought a manual transmission car? Crap. I guess that would explain the high RPMs and the uneven ride at high speeds. Maybe I should learn that shifting thing. I did wonder what the heck that thing was between the two front seat was/is.
"That's a custom order. There's like less than a dozen in the country or something."
I think he peed his pants when I said this.
"I've noticed when you test drive cars, you can't find a stick. They're all automatics now."
"Well, if you look you can find them."
"Yeah. Well, thanks. Nice car."
They walked away. I watched them for a while. Do I take this at face value, or remain suspicious? I mean, the last time I had a car the envy of some guy was... was... well, never.