So the other night I went to get shoes put on the ol' girl. This is the first time I've let a stranger lift my lovely lady. I brought a book to read, while they were working, but couldn't focus on it. I kept walking back over to the window to gaze upon her gorgeous lines, and to bite my nails over the college kids using high-powered machinery on my beautiful Fuchs. I was reassured when the tech not only looked up the torque spec for the lugs, but also checked the torque wrench in the calibrator-doodad. I felt better, at that point. They were really quite professional, and listened with great attentiveness to my paranoid jittering.
But then I had kind of an epiphane. These cars aren't just cars. I couldn't understand my strong reaction to seeing someone else working on my car, until I realized that I had made an emotional bond. I don't think about how much money it will cost, or what I could have bought with that cash. There is no longer anything like "perspective" -- she and I have developed a real bond. Scary.
Then, when I got home, the pavement was damp, and I could see my recent tracks in the parking lot. I instinctively looked at my line, eyeballed the apex, and bent down to look closely at the tread pattern. I looked around the lot at some of the other tracks, and realized that I was probably the only one who had thought about the line.
Then the deeper thought: these cars change who you are as a person. Owning a Porsche has a profound effect on the way that you think about cars, and perhaps on life in general.
Or maybe I just need to get a girlfriend.
Cheers, happy Thanksgiving, and safe travelling to all.
Dan