I’m always looking for people to guest post. Not only does it take a bit of the writing burden off of me, it gives you the opportunity to hear an alternative opinion or read a different post. Today’s post is the first in a two part letter written by new contributor John Killion. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
Dear Hanzy Mein Hanzy;
Now that the winter permafrost has melted and the memory of your cousin Helmut’s impromptu invasion of my digs has vanished into the primordial stew of my short term memory, I feel safe in writing to you once again, and once again delineating another poignant manifestation of my ongoing social angst, as personal and depraved as it certainly is.
The other day I walked into a local Porsche dealership and innocently headed straight into the parts department, determined to purchase a genuine set of OEM timing belts for my old and beloved 944. As I approached the counter to announce my intention 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 yet? It’s to die for.”
Now Hanzy, I’ve always thought that God, family and nation were the only things worth dying for, but to recognize that there existed another valid reason for my sudden temporal demise set my philosophical tentacles all a quiver with potential possibilities, and I found I could not resist the man in the well-tailored suit when I stammered, “You mean you have one on the lot…now?”
“I have several, though I assure you not ‘on the lot‘,” he purred. “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 on spending 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 trepidation and 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 and I suddenly felt strangely underdressed, and chocking upon my revulsion at my outward appearance my eyes fell upon the sultry shape of the new Porsche Cayman S, and I felt my breathing stop as her presence invaded some primitive level of my psyche, and as I imprudently and foolishly awaited a formal introduction to this pretty frauline I think I may have actually blushed.
Without looking in her direction I could see my old 944 where I’d left her, parked on the other side of the wall of glass and awaiting my return, 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 way, way too long, and perhaps a change would be best for the both of us.
The dapper salesman whirled around from behind his desk and laid the Cayman’s build sheet across his forearm as if he were offering a warm towel, and serving it up thick he said, “I see that she has caught your eye, and a fine eye you have, sir. Would you like to view her pedigree?” My eyes momentarily flitted across the build sheet he offered but my attention was completely riveted upon the flirting siren whose tune I fear I could not resist, whose face had already burned itself into the primordial folds of my masculine resume, 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 my otherwise beloved 944. We’ve been together for over a decade now, 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 a driver.
About the author: John lives deep in the woods of Plymouth, Massachusetts. In his garage lurks a track-ready 944, a lightened and lowered momentum machine of serious purpose, who shares her stable with a fat and frisky 928 S4. While the 944 has seen many, many track days, in all her nimbleness, the S4 spends her time street-side, ferrying John in unparalleled Porsche luxury from one gin mill to the other. It is the best of all possible worlds.
The Porsche Cayman S is a Dark Mistress (Part II of the story above)
How to Change the Oil in a Porsche 944
Changing the Oil in your Porsche. Man vs. Woman
The Porsche 928 as an investment
[Picture Source: AP Photo/David Zalubowski, PCNA]