I was at a gas station a year or two ago when I noticed a guy in a Chevy Silverado with his daughter a few pumps over – his little girl was pointing eagerly at my car. She was maybe nine years old – although I admit I’m not the best at judging the age of children, so that’s just my best guess. As I started fueling, they had finished up and started over toward me. He was rubbing his chin as he stared at my modified Cayman, and she was jumping up and down like she just saw a bunny.
“What kind of car is that?” he inquired as they got closer. I was rather proud of my Porsche, and I never minded the attention. Perfect strangers give you the thumbs-up. Neighborhood kids will race you to the corner on their bikes, and you’ll always get the two-finger salute from other Porsche drivers when you cross paths. Like walking an alligator in the park, I’d come to expect interaction from strangers. It comes with the territory – part of owning a Porsche.
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