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Ferrari 458 Italia. (Ferrari)
Ferrari 458 Italia. (Ferrari)

Road sage

My far-fetched Ferrari fantasies Add to ...

There comes a point in every man’s life when he realizes that he will never own a Ferrari, at least in the life of every man who doesn’t already own a Ferrari.

I have not reached that point.

I’m convinced Ferrari ownership is still within my grasp. It may seem a little unlikely for a writer who doesn’t spin stories about the undead or pen blockbusters for Hollywood to acquire a Ferrari, but it’s not impossible. If they can put a robot car on Mars, why can’t I put a high-performance Italian sports car in my driveway?

In fact, I’ve spent hours figuring out the various ways I might be able to orchestrate Ferrari ownership.

Here is what I have thus far:

Possible Ways I Could Own a Ferrari

Lightning: I am struck by lightning (the massive electrostatic discharge). I somehow survive and then sue lightning (the massive electrostatic discharge) for damages. The case goes to court and, even though lightning is represented by a hot-shot attorney, it can tell the jury is on my side. My suit is settled when lightning, facing a certain defeat, offers me a 2013 Ferrari California.

Befriend the wealthy: I “become intimate” with wealthy people who have extremely low standards in exchange for stock options in an exciting, but overlooked, emerging tech startup. In a few years, the company explodes – bigger than Facebook – and I cash in my stock options and buy a F12 Berlinetta. I remain on good terms with my former clients.

Magnum: I grow a mustache, tone up and become a fervent supporter of the Detroit Tigers. I almost play professional football and fight in the Vietnam War. I then move to Hawaii where I befriend a well-dressed, portly man who runs a large estate owned by a mysterious millionaire. He asks me to move in to his guest house and offers me the use of his Ferrari 308 GTB. In my spare time I solve crimes and hang out with my war buddies T.C. (who played tight end for Grambling) and Rick (who was not big enough to play football).

Time Machine: A machine takes me back in time. Mistakes are corrected. I make a few adjustments. Engage in a little insider trading in 1989 or perhaps invent the Internet.

Organ sale: I go back in time and invent the Hammond Organ. I sell millions.

Lottery win: Buy winning ticket.

Bueller: I wait in the ravine behind Cameron Frye’s house. When he leans on his father’s 1961 Ferrari GT California (which is running in reverse to roll back mileage) it flies off the hillside garage. That’s my cue. I’m there with a super-strong trampoline that absorbs the Ferrari’s fall. I drive it home.

Hard work: I work hard and make good financial decisions. Hey, it could happen.


Labour Day diagnostics

Speaking of distant dreams and close nightmares. It’s the post-Labour Day period, a time when driving is at its very worst. What’s that you say? How can the driving be at its worst when September’s gold afternoons shine and its gentle breezes blow?

Isn’t the driving at its worst during the winter when we face antagonistic snow and sleet or in November with its shortened days and twilight hazards? What about July with its distracted vacationers and cottage country traffic jams? Or is the driving poorest in the spring with its inaugural road construction?

They all stink, no question about it. Yet I still maintain that the driving is at its worst during the weeks that follow Labour Day. Dubious? Let’s run down the list of post-Labour Day transgressions.

In the summer months, there are less cars on the street. Folks are on holiday. The work commute is a little less arduous and, when there are delays, the long days make a driver feel that he is not wasting his life away stuck in traffic (even though he is). After Labour Day, all those holiday seekers are back – the volume goes back to normal (read: malfunctioning).

Unfortunately, all the construction projects that we started in March have not finished on time. They’re behind schedule. So you have high volumes of traffic pushed through roads and highways that are pocked with construction. Delays abound.

School is back in session and that means helicopter parents shuttling their kids to and from school. Side streets that are clear in the summer become flash-mob traffic congestion.

Meanwhile our biological clocks also play a role. Whether you’ve been out of the education system for a summer or for decades, at the start of every September we experience some of that back-to-school generalized anxiety. You relive the feeling that you’ve forgotten to do your homework or that you even had homework to begin with. You hear a stifled urgent voice telling you it’s time to get things accomplished. After a summer of letting life slide, it’s time to get out there and work. So we get in our cars and rush around frenetically, and accomplish very little except creating traffic jams and freak accidents.

So buckle up. Keep alert. Stay safe in the post-Labour Day frenzy. And take heart. Winter is on its way.

Follow Andrew Clark on Twitter: @aclarkcomedy

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