Don't sports car guys get a little ...... snooty .... at times?
Ron was asking about my experiences hanging out with Sports Car Guys of various kinds. He had heard, somewhere, that Porsche Guys can be particularly snobbish. I haven't the faintest idea where he heard THAT ........ but I was quick to assure him that amongst Porsche Guys you had a broad spectrum personalities running from snob to salt-of-the-earth.
Then Ron asked about Ferrari.
Peter is, in my mind, the quintessential Ferrari Guy. He was successful in business - a self-made man, who indulged his success by collecting Ferraris. When I met Peter, he was in his late 30's, and had already owned 5 different Red Cars. His knowledge of the marque's history was deep and intimate. He was qualified as a concourse judge. His love for the cars was unmistakable. A trip to Peter's office was like going to a Ferrari museum. He had Ferrari memorabilia everywhere, surrounding his prized possession - a black and white photographic portrait of Lorenzo Bandini taken by the late, great, Dave Friedman. He even wore a Ferrari watch.
Peter was a real Sports Car Guy, but not not the sort that people often associate with exotic cars. He's a great guy, and a good friend. Kind. Generous. Passionate. Friendly.
I worked for Peter for a couple years, and during that time he was elected president of the Ferrari Club of America. Prior to taking office, he chaired the the FCA Annual Meet that was being held at the Broadmoor in Colorado Springs. Peter told me about the fabulous concourse d'elegance they were going to have and suggested I take a day off, and go down to the Springs to check it out. I did.
You can't be into sports cars in general and not have a certain fondness for Ferrari. The Ferrari is the quintessential sports car. When you think of sports cars and awesome at the same time, you're thinking Ferrari. Nothing else comes close. All other sports cars pale in comparison. A Ferrari is what all other sports cars dream of being.
Sue and I took the day off, hopped in the xTerra and headed to The Springs. I was giddy as a schoolboy. There were going to be more Ferraris ..... rare and important Ferraris ... than I had ever seen or was likely to see again. It was going to be So Cool.
It was a great day for a drive - beautiful weather, lite traffic (even for a freeway drive), great company. It followed the usual - mcMuffins for breakfast, stop at 'Bux to get a Latte for the road.
Everything was looking good.
That was due to change.
We got to the Broadmoor and parked. We had no idea where to go, so we headed towards the hotel. En route we came upon two well-dressed me, who were obviously "Tifosi" - a word used in reference to the die-hard fans of Scuderia Ferrari - all decked out in t-shirts, caps and so on. I knew there would be a buttload of Tifosi lurking about the Broadmoor and now I had two. I figured one of them would know where the concourse was going to be, so I stopped them.
Excuse me, gentlemen, but could you tell me where the concourse is being held?
One of them looked at me like I had just puked all over his Topsiders. Yes, a Tifosi, and a Snob. The other fellow pointed and said over there. I thanked him profusely, but didn't apologize for the imaginary puke on the other's shoes.
We got to the concourse and the gate was closed. I asked an attendant what was going on and when would the gates would open. The nice lady said that the judges were just wrapping up, then everyone was going to lunch and the gate would open when they got back.
Cool, I thought, we'll go to this excellent burger joint I know near here, grab some chow, come back and check out the cars.
Was I a member of The Club?
No, I'm sorry, but I'm not attendee.
She said I couldn't come in if I wasn't a member of the FCA or attending the Meet. She was rapidly loosing her niceness.
I protested.
My BOSS, Peter, is the chairman of this "Meet", and he TOLLLLD me that I could come down to the concourse today and walk though the cars after judging, and .......
So there, I thought.
The Not-So-Nice-Any-More Lady didn't care. I wasn't getting into this concourse, no way, no how.
I suggested she use that cell phone of hers to call into Meet Headquarters, get Peter on the horn and tell him Chaz is here and he says you said .......
Nope. No way, no how.
Off in the distance I could see dozens of Ferraris. A Ferrari 166 street car. A 250 GTO. An F1 87/88 - perhaps an ex-Gerhard Berger car. A couple 250 Testa Rosas. A 330 P4. What looked to be a '67 312 (possible ex-Chris Amon?).
Magnificent.
So near.
So far.
And this evil ..... woman ..... was denying them to me and wasn't being the least bit sympathetic about it.
I mean, what sort of human being would deny someone like me entrance to a show like this one? What POSSIBLE difference, what possible FUCKING difference, would letting me in make?
Apparently quite a bit. The woman wasn't going to budge. Wasn't going to call headquarters. Wasn't going to lift a finger. There's a special, desperate, corner of Hell ......
So, dejected and angry, we went back to the car. It was a long drive back to Denver.
I drove straight to a dealership and test-drove a Corvette. It was easy.
These Ferrari Guys in The Springs wouldn't ME into their stupid car show. Can I test-drive that Vette over there? The RED one?
It was easy.
That'd show those fuckers.
AFTERWARD:
I saw Peter at the office a few days later. He asked what I thought and I told my story. He was a bit shocked and apologized that I had been treated unfairly and that I'd taken a day off only to be disappointed. Then he asked how I liked the Vette.
The truth is, I'd own a Ferrari if I could afford it. If I had one I'd join FCA. I might even become a snob about it.
Tifoso Sempre!
