There are eight million stories in the naked city, and this was one of them: a chance meeting. True, I am just a wedding crasher with a devious agenda, but when the pretty girl at the party caught my eye, down the rabbit hole I went.
It all began in the test area. Walking by I heard a guy explain one of the transmission options I had been curious about for over a year. Yes, this was the NuVince Harmony. I continued on, but with a pull at my heart not known before.
Just before closing I found myself there again and it was available! The bright young man went on... and on... and on... and on... and on... and on... and the test track closed by the time I got there.
Now I had blue balls. So I was there bright and early the next day to get on the dance card, if at all possible. At first I was glad not to see my little techno boy, but nobody else knew what I was asking for. I had to go find her myself, buried deep in the rack with an empty dance card.
A polite gentleman doesn't talk about what happened next in public. Let us just say I was smitten, I had to have her. Knowing I was in the land of secret handshakes didn't stop me, I asked to buy her. Of course it could have been me looking like a crackhead who found a pass and got lost on his way to the bathroom, but they just gave me vague explanations of why not.
I would have forgotten her, like so many other lovers, but I ran into Spinning Magnets. He kindly introduced me to his entourage as from Endless Sphere. I am not nearly that cool. Dude, you need a fact checker before the second draft. As we talked the group moved to the test area right in front of my baby! I just had to pull him aside. I started spewing gibberish and then hit on: “Just turn her on, put her in a turbo, and ride how ever you want.” (He is not from here or I would have said: ride her like Shirley at the Mustang Ranch!)
Another sleepless night looking at close ups of purple anodizing surrounded by carbon fiber. Nothing could take my mind off her, so at ten I rolled up on them and whipped out four grand in cash. It was as shocking as I hoped it would be. They had me putting that away faster than the boys on fourth street. However it did get me a salesman. Yadda Yadda, it belongs to someone else. “Fine, here is my phone number, call me” I said. Note I said call me.
Pretty girls have been the bane of my existence. I am old enough now to move on and get the job done. On the surface, the end of the show looks a bar at three am. Many of the booths have people sleeping on their forearms. However there is a small group of rats scurrying about. Here the wheat was separated from the shaft. Among the half drunk beers, people were being pulled aside all over the place: “we have to talk.” Next time we ask the Post to pay Spinning Magnets to get us the real stories.
Me? I scored. I am too legit to quit now. Felling good because I was done with 2 minuets to spare, I wondered back through the floor and ran into the salesman. “I texted you” he said. “Dude, your a salesman, you should know to never text people over 60. When they say call, call!” He gives “the guy” a call for me. Could this day go any better?
He can't sell it because of a European battery. I never believed the toilets flushed the other way in Ozi land until I went there, so maybe things do spark differently in Europe. What is German for Ohms Law? However I have his number and he will be back next month. The dream lives on.