A Not So Black Friday

I found myself escorting my in-law to the local mall on Black Friday. I dropped her off, and told her I would be back in an hour. My heart raced as I drove into the Porsche dealership across the way from the mall, wondering what the heck I was doing, when I knew darn well I had no intention of buying any sort of Porsche today.

Nonetheless, my spirit man had been ringing all morning to go, just go. You don't need a reason, just go. So there I was, parking my wife's SUV, and stepping out into a consistent drizzle, expecting to be scolded away, any moment, by a saleperson accustomed to higher-rollers than me.

I started towards a 911 Carrera Turbo, then a Carrera 4s, then a Boxster, then a Cayman, enjoying the variation in transmissions, colors, et al. My confidence grew, my eyes widened. Plus, I answered a fundamental question. No, the 911's rear seats wouldn't cut it for the kids, so it would have to be a Boxster or a Cayman, in my dream state, and the missus would worry about driving the kids. I walked in as I saw a man with his kids do the same. All right, I thought, you may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.

Inside the showroom was embarassingly barren, even for a rainly day after Thanksgiving. It was a Boxster, a Carrera Coupe, and another gentleman, apart from the father of two. The gentleman and I struck up a conversation, and his response that he was here having his Boxster serviced, intrigued me. I joined him for a seat in the service department's waiting area, where he spoke of his Porsche history, the inherent brevity of human life, and the importance of keeping one's dream alive.

After being educated a bit more on his earned wisdom in life and motorsports, I glanced from my notes on my mobile phone and realized my hour sojourn was over. I thanked the gentleman, and inside, God, for the omen. When I exited the dealership, I walked into a downpour, but inside it might as well have been a glade of heaven in June.