For as long as I can remember certain cars have always stirred up some form of emotion inside me. Their look, their sound, their rareness and exclusivity.
I often wonder if, one day, I will be one of the lucky few to experience delivery day of some form of exotic vehicle. I imagine the excitement and suspense would be overwhelming.
To be able to wake one morning and decide that today is the day I buy myself a Ferrari would be a dream come true. I imagine the experience of walking into the dealership to have two distinct scenarios. One where I’m greeted happily and with respect, the other where I’m shunned. I honestly hope that if the day ever comes I’m greeted happily and with respect.
Delivery day would see me waiting and watching my phone, all so I can hear the words, “Wil, your Ferrari is waiting for you.”
It’s funny how there are varying levels of excitement that can be had for exactly the same thing. The above is what happened when I bought my Skyline from a dealership.
The dealer was a short and stocky white man from New Zealand with a heavy kiwi accent with the name, Piri. I was 24 at the time, looking all of 14, yet he treated me like a man. Answered all my questions truthfully, and didn’t try to spin anything. He spent alot of time with me.
The day I signed the papers the car was not yet ready for delivery. But he threw me the keys and said, “Wil, can you drive your car out of the lot and into the storage out back?”
The surge of adrenalin I felt at that time was intense, it felt much like outdoor rock climbing where you lose your footing and freefall while you wait for your rope to take up the slack. My car, he called it my car. I owned a turbo rear wheel drive and was about to drive it unsupervised for the first time.
Maybe he could see the excitement in my eyes when I first saw the car I would eventually purchase. He was never pushy, and always obliging. I hope that if Ferrari day ever comes someone like Piri is there to show me the car.