I recently walked into my local Porsche dealership and headed straight to the parts department, determined to purchase a set of timing belts for my old and beloved 944. As I approached the counter I was intercepted by a rather well-dressed man with a very nice haircut who smiled at me and said, "Have you seen the new Cayman S? It's to die for."
Now Hanzy, I've always thought that family and nation were the only things worth dying for, yet I found I could not resist the man in the well-tailored suit and I stammered, "You mean you have one on the lot...now?"
"I have several," he purred. "Though I assure you not 'on the lot' and in some of the very best color combinations available."
I fingered the wad of cash I had in my pocket and thought about my old 944. I'd planned to spend this money on her, for something that she needs, or wants, or could use. But this will be something like the hundredth time that I've serviced this Old Girl, and the thought of climbing under her once again to perform my magic was, well... frankly... boring. So, with no small amount of self-loathing, I followed the dapper salesman into of his den of infidelity.
I was instantly immersed in an ocean of glass and brilliantly reflective surfaces as my eyes fell upon the sultry shape of the new Porsche Cayman S, and as I foolishly awaited a formal introduction to this pretty frauline I think I may have actually blushed.
I could see my old 944 where I'd left her, patient in her trusting ways. I looked at her familiar face-usually quite pretty to me-but now that the Cayman S was winking at me with the promise of pleasures to come I suddenly thought that I've been looking at that face for too long, and perhaps a change would be best for the both of us.
The dapper salesman laid the Cayman's build sheet across his forearm as if he were proffering a warm towel, and serving it up thick, he said, "I see that she has caught your eye, sir. Would you like to view her pedigree?" And I somehow knew that my wallet and any sense of reason and logic would not be the prevailing factors in the events which would immediately follow, and I shuddered to think of the implications as my thoughts returned to my otherwise beloved 944. We've been together for over a decade, and other than a few minor squabbles our relationship has been quite satisfactory, and if the truth really needs to be known here, I'd have to admit that she's still a better car than I am driver.
But there's the Cayman S. A dark mistress with fresh lines and curves, hard-bodied, and for the first time in many years I felt moved to poetry, but before I could swoon in the cloudless climes the dapper salesman asked, "Would you like to talk about financing, sir?" And I was so deep in my passionate fever that I'm sure I mumbled in the affirmative while never even shifting my gaze from this Teutonic floozy.
I was vaguely aware of some big numbers flying around the room. I was also momentarily offended to learn that my 944 would not be welcome in the pre-owned section of his lot, but I found myself strangely unmoved to defend the point. Legal papers were appearing before my eyes but all I could see was the Cayman S winking at me-and I think I may have winked back. The dapper salesman handed me his pen as I considered my fate. This wasn't something that I had asked for, it had simply happened. It was totally unexpected. A chance encounter that could alter everything...
I needed some air and shot through a side door. I could see my 944, still pretty in her Copenhagen Blau dress after all these years, still willing to put up with my heavy-handed and clumsy shenanigans.
I wisely crept back to my car and slid into the driver's seat, my sense of relief palpable. But a lingering feeling of guilt and betrayal would have to be dealt with, so I steered my 944 to the local Toyota dealership where she always enjoys strutting her stuff in front of the debutants. "See my dear," I gently said to her. "You still got it. Even after all these years."