3/21/16 – 3/23/16
On Monday, we found out that the car would not arrive on Tuesday. Instead, it would be here Friday, which is Good Friday this year, making it really a good Friday. As an aside, people who know me have witnessed my need to rank things. It started years ago with Cinnamon Rolls and Bolognese Sauce. Anyway, I rank Fridays. All Fridays are good, some are just a little better than others. For example, a payday Friday is better than a non-payday Friday. Getting my car on Good Friday, would be a spectacular Friday. It was not to be, though.
Our garage is a disaster zone. Our garage door is falling apart. Until I bought the 1977 Targa, we had no reason to even go into it. Now we do. For the past week or so Pam has been getting quotes for replacing the garage door. As usual, Mark has a good idea and suggests we get one with the motor on the side instead of overhead. Thankfully, this gives me something to focus on while I wait for the carto be delivered.
On Wednesday, as I was at lunch, I missed a call from a number I didn’t recognize and there was no voice mail associated with it. I usually ignore such calls, but this time I called back. Turns out it was the company delivering the car. They said that my car would be delivered between 1 and 3 pm. I looked at my watch. It was just about noon, and I had not received my food yet. It would be touch and go for 1 pm, but I figured they would not be at my house that early, so I said I would be waiting.
I ate in a blur, went to the office to get my stuff and drove home. I made it at 12:58 pm. The driver delivering my car was not waiting for me. So I sat around doing some emails and other odds and ends like moving stuff around in the garage; all the while getting really impatient. Soon it was 2 pm, then 2:30 pm. Eventually, it was 3 pm, and no car. I called the transportation company and got a voice mail. At around 3:30 pm my phone rang and it was the driver delivering my car. He told me he was in Paramount and has a delivery to make and that he would be at my place in 2 hours. It’s a good thing I agreed to be there from 1 to 3 pm. If I hadn’t and pushed it back, he may have come at midnight.
At 5:30 pm my phone rang, and the driver told me he was outside. I live on a busy street, especially between 5 and 6 pm. As I go outside, I see this pretty wide truck with a towing trailer on my street. Cars have to pass by one at a time to get by it. I take some perverse pleasure in being the cause of some irritation. I stop looking at the cars pass by and see my car being driven down the ramp towards the street.
Mark and I spoke about the delivery, and he said I needed to get some gas, as it probably was pretty empty. The gas station is not far, but it is rush hour and I have to travel on busy streets to get there. I look at the car, and wonder for the first, but not the last, time, if this car can be driven and can I actually drive it. Starting it was a challenge, but I get it done. The clutch is not being cooperative.
I make it to the gas station, and then I realize that I have no idea which side of the car the gas cap is on, and furthermore, I have no idea how to open the lid covering the fill spout. I don’t even bother looking for an owners manual. My Cayman is a Porsche and the gas cap is on the passenger side of the car. So I assume that it is on the same side in the 911. I was wrong. Good thing I brought my phone with me, as I called Mark in a panic. He tells me where the gas cap is and then explains how to get the lid to pop open, all the while reminding me to do it GENTLY. I do so and then try to get the gas nozzle to reach across the car. That ends in failure, so I work at restarting the car so I can reposition it to another set of pumps. As I do so, Murphy strikes, and eight cars descend on all the adjacent pumps, leaving me blocked in and even more helpless.
Eventually I get the car moved and the gas in the car and head home. I stop the car in the driveway and it just will not restart. So I decide to leave it there for the night. As I am doing this my friend John comes over to pick us up for movie night. He likes Porsches, and used to own a great one years ago, but he takes one look ant the 1977 Targa and just starts to chuckle. John is a very politically correct, considerate man, so he eventually says, “Well you have a lot of work to do.” He is not kidding.