Joanie’s post about the Lexus driver who got in her airspace a few days ago prompted me to recall what happened to me just about two years ago when I was in SoCal (Orange County, to be precise) picking up my 300ZX which I’d just purchased over the Internet and had flown out to drive home to Texas.
The car’s owner was a very nice and very upwardly mobile 30-something who just happened to work very nearby the airport (John Wayne Int’l Airport in Orange County) where I’d just landed. (My feet still hadn’t touched the ground at this point, though!)
W had already agreed that I’d call him at his office as soon as my plane landed and he’d come pick me up and take me to get “my” car. So when I phoned him to tell him I had arrived, he was very specific (to the point of being ANAL, I thought) about what car he was driving. He told me he’d be in a white Lexus sedan and proceeded to rattle off the license place number. Being without a pen and paper, I just let him go on, not bothering to write the numbers down. (Good grief, why on earth would I need to know THAT?)
So I go out to the curb, as excited as can be, and wait. Not five minutes later, up drives a nice white Lexus sedan. Like a little puppy, tail wagging, I trot out to the street as he drives up, a big grin on my face. I peered in and the driver looked at me, apprehension on his face, and KEPT ON GOING.
Uh, wrong car I guess. So I take my place back on the curb, my excitement just slightly subdued by the encounter. A few minutes later up comes another white Lexus sedan. Again, it keeps going.
Long story short, about the tenth white Lexus sedan that drives by (I shit you not!) has my guy at the wheel. NOW I know why he wanted me to have his license plate number. I guess the white Lexus sedan (with tan leather interior and moonroof) is the national car of California?